


All the Difference

by ClaudiaRain



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Family, Friendship, Humor, Love, Memory Loss, Romance, Slow Burn, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-29
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-02 23:20:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 154,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8687476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaudiaRain/pseuds/ClaudiaRain
Summary: When Caitlin falls asleep in one reality and wakes up in another, she has to figure out what's going on. Too bad every answer she gets only leads to more questions...and the growing realization that maybe she's actually right where she belongs.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who gave my first story for this pairing a shot! And thank you, Tavyn, for the title, and feedback while I wrote this – you make everything better.
> 
> In the world of this story, Caitlin doesn't have any powers (nor will she be getting any) and Harrison Wells never returned to Earth-2.

Caitlin came back to consciousness slowly and the first thing she registered was how utterly exhausted she felt. It was the kind of exhaustion that hit her every few weeks – the kind that made her regret waking up in the first place. The only thing she wanted was to fall back to sleep, but as her mind slowly woke up, she gradually accepted that it wasn't a realistic possibility.

She didn't want to open her eyes just yet, sure the brightness of the morning sun would irritate her (like it always did) and then she'd lie in bed and think about how she _really_ had to spring for some blackout curtains, but she was just too busy with work, and helping keep the city safe, and trying to manage her (mostly non-existent) personal life on top of that.

She kept her eyes firmly shut and reached out blindly for her phone. When she couldn't find it, she rolled over and had a split second to feel her heart sink when she realized she'd rolled onto _nothing_. She threw her hands out at the last second and managed to break most of her fall.

When was the last time she'd fallen off her bed? Well, aside from that time a few months ago when she'd gotten hopelessly tangled in the sheets, wrenched too hard, and gone flying backwards off the foot of it? ( _That_ landing had been much harder.)

She did a quick mental inventory to make sure she hadn't injured anything and finally glanced up, instantly freezing as she took in her surroundings with a newfound sense of dread.

She hadn't fallen out of bed, she'd fallen off a couch.

And it wasn't even _her_ couch.

She rubbed her hands firmly over her eyes and then looked around again, hoping the scene might have changed. Unfortunately, it was exactly the same. She was in a spacious living room with a bunch of chairs and sofas arranged in several separate sitting areas. The windows on the wall opposite her had their curtains pulled shut, but no light was seeping in around the edges, so she knew that no matter the time of day, the sun was probably down (unless those were blackout curtains like she'd been longing for in her bedroom…).

She glanced behind her, noting that the couch she'd been sleeping on was white suede. There was a fluffy white throw rug under her, partially covering a hardwood floor, and a glass coffee table a couple feet in front of her (and she was thankful it was that far back, or else she would have hit it when she rolled off the couch). The walls were white – in fact, the whole _room_ was mostly white with a spattering of black and gray for…color? (Or to reinforce the lack of it?)

She felt like she was in a museum. It was the kind of room she was almost afraid to be in – just looking around made her feel like it would get dirty if she so much as moved.

She had the presence of mind to stay quiet and as calm as she could possibly manage, even as her heart rate increased with every terrible scenario that flashed across her mind. Her first thought was that she might have been abducted. It wasn't far-fetched – she'd been taken many times before by a whole host of the criminals and meta-humans they regularly chased. However, the more she looked around, the more the abduction scenario didn't seem to fit. Despite the inherent barrenness of the room, it was nice – _really_ nice. And expensive. Even if it wasn't decorated to her taste, she could tell the furnishings weren't cheap. Plus, the room was spacious enough that she guessed she was in a fairly large home. It didn't exactly mesh with the types of places criminals usually took her – old warehouses or abandoned cellars or…jail cells.

Something was pressing against the corners of her mind, some inkling that she was forgetting to remember… _something_. It was like she _knew_ this room. Like she'd been here before. And not just once, but many, many times.

And yet, she couldn't place a single _real_ memory within its walls.

There was a familiarity about the style of the décor, as well. Too bad she couldn't quite pinpoint what it was. Even if she couldn't (consciously) remember seeing this room before, she'd definitely seen a similar style in someone's home, so she began filing through everyone she knew. Her mother, Barry, Cisco, Harry – of course! Her mind repeated his name over and over, almost like a prayer: _Harrison Wells_. She'd been in his house a handful of times in the past, mostly when he'd been Eobard pretending to be Harrison, but this was definitely his home.

She felt near-instant relief as her fear and worry vanished at the realization that this place belonged to her co-worker. Boss. Friend. All of that, and more; he would never hurt her. She rolled her shoulders, willing the overly tense muscles to relax through sheer force of will. Since she was still sitting on the floor, she let her head fall back on the couch cushion and stared up at the ceiling. A fan spinning lazily caught her attention and she watched it revolve while trying to piece together the most likely scenario of what had happened.

First and foremost, how had she gotten here?

Had she had too much to drink last night? Had she been drugged? Maybe she'd been knocked out and lost her memory? And Harry, or one of the others, had brought her here to recuperate?

None of those possibilities seemed to fit, though, since she felt perfectly fine. She didn't remember going out last night, for fun _or_ for work. She couldn't recall going off to do anything dangerous, either (which was actually how she spent a lot of her evenings and was merely a hazard of working with the Flash).

The last thing she remembered was lying in bed, trying to watch TV as she fought the urge to fall asleep. She'd been putting in a lot of late nights at S.T.A.R. Labs, and as a result, she'd been incredibly tired after work these past few weeks. Her weekends were mostly taken up with errands necessary to stay alive, so if she had any free time lately, it was on her relatively rare evenings off. And that free time was so precious that she never wanted to waste it by going to bed early. Usually, she'd try to stay awake to catch up on the few TV shows she managed to stay current with, or she'd try to unwind with a movie. (Despite her best efforts, she usually ended up falling asleep anyways.)

She absently glanced down and found that she was wearing the same pajamas she'd donned earlier tonight – red and green plaid pants and a red, long-sleeved thermal shirt. She liked the set because it reminded her of Christmas. She usually broke it out at the first hint of cool nights in September and continued wearing it well into spring, just because of how much she liked the holidays –

But her pajamas weren't the point. The point was: how had she gone from asleep in her own bed to asleep on Harry's couch? She'd had no idea he even still had this house…mansion. The last she'd heard, it had been placed in a trust for his estate and eventually sold. Harry – _their_ Harrison Wells, from Earth-2 – had actually wanted to keep it (something about how he had the same home back on his Earth, and he had fond memories of raising Jesse there), but there hadn't been any conceivable way for him to claim it when he was a wanted fugitive thanks to Eobard's actions.

Had he secretly bought it back…without telling anyone? And if so, how had he done it, since they'd never cleared his name?

Was she making a wrong assumption in thinking he'd somehow reclaimed the house?

It figured that just after she'd convinced herself things would be fine, she'd start wondering if she should panic again. (She really hoped she wouldn't have to, because she was still exhausted and didn't have much energy for it at the moment... Besides, what were the odds that any new owners would have the same black-and-white taste as Harrison Wells?)

"Hey," Harry said from the doorway to her left, and Caitlin nearly wrenched her neck as she twisted her head to face him. "Sorry, didn't mean to startle you."

"It's fine," she said, so incredibly thankful to see him that she almost wanted to jump up and go hug him. She knew she'd been working herself up over nothing.

He appeared to be scrutinizing her. "Why are you on the floor?"

"I was asleep, rolled over, and fell off your stupid couch," she snapped, getting irritated again at the jarring memory.

"Do I need to put guardrails on the furniture?" he asked, walking over to her. "I guess I mistakenly thought you'd mastered the skill of not falling off things oh…twenty-five years ago."

She wanted to snap at him again, but he was holding his hand out to her, so she took it and let him pull her to her feet. She studied him for a few moments, completely thrown by his attire – she'd never seen him in anything as casual as he was wearing now – gray pants and a green shirt, both of which appeared to be lounge clothes of some type. Or…pajamas. Great, she'd shown up at his home, under who knew what circumstances, only to bother him in what was quite possibly the middle of the night!

"Are you okay?" he asked, looking her over. (He sounded much more worried than she was used to hearing from him.) "Did you hurt yourself?"

"Just my pride," she mumbled, acutely aware she might be sulking.

"I didn't know that was possible," he joked.

She just barely cracked a smile before managing to stop herself, but it was too late.

"Ha, I saw that!" he cheered, before adding, "My streak's intact."

"Your streak?" she asked, as he pulled out his phone and typed something into it.

"Yup, eight days straight," he told her, as if that was supposed to clarify something. "I'll make it to two weeks yet. And then you'll be sorry."

She was tempted to pursue that line of questioning, but it was probably some stupid bet between him and Cisco. Or him and Barry. Or him and Joe. Or all four of them together, with her luck. And she had more pressing matters to address.

She hadn't missed that he was acting pretty casual about the fact that she was in his living room at… "What time is it?"

His eyes flicked to the wall behind her and she followed his gaze to see an ornate clock hanging there. "It's 11:30," he said, sounding amused. "Maybe you should get your eyes checked if you can't see that far."

"I can see fine," she told him. "I didn't know there was a clock there."

"It's been there forever," he said, as if she should care about his decorating choices.

"Okay." She didn't want to talk about clocks. She wanted to know why she was in her boss's living room when it was going on midnight. "How did I get here?"

"The living room?" he was starting to sound as confused as she felt. "I'm no detective, but I'm going to guess that you walked in here."

"Very funny." She waved her arms around to encompass him, herself, and their entire strange situation. "The last thing I remember is falling asleep."

"You _were_ asleep," he pointed out.

"I'm not talking about just now," she said, frustrated. "I'm talking about earlier. I don't even remember _driving_ here."

He was watching her too closely when he asked, "You don't remember leaving work?"

She jumped on his question. "No, I remember that. I got home, then I was researching on my laptop –"

"Right, the last meta-human we captured," he filled in, relaxing a little. "You wanted to know how he was capable of containing so much energy."

"Exactly," she said, relieved they were at last on the same page. "I was tired, though, so I put my laptop down and closed my eyes… I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"You should be going to bed earlier," he scolded.

"Gee, thanks for that entirely unhelpful advice," she said, crossing her arms. "My point is I fell asleep at home and I woke up here. How is that possible?"

The mirth slowly vanished from his face and he was looking at her in a way that was incredibly unsettling. It took him a few moments to ask, "What do you mean you fell asleep 'at home'?"

"Home," she repeated, wondering what he even meant by that question. "You know, where I _live_? My apartment."

"Your…apartment."

"Yes," she said, her frustration mounting. "So again, I'll ask: how did I get here?"

He sat down on the couch where she'd been sleeping, and like an afterthought when she didn't follow him, he reached up to take her arm and pull her to sit down, too. "Are you sure you're not confused because you just woke up? Maybe you're disoriented."

"I'm definitely disoriented," she agreed, trying to decipher his expression. He was worried, she could tell. She could also tell that he was trying to hide it. "You didn't bring me here? Barry didn't?"

"No," he said, and he didn't seem any happier to give that answer than she was to hear it.

"Great," she sighed, leaning back into the couch cushions. She glanced around again, eyes falling on the end table to her right – and there was her closed laptop. Apparently, it had made its way here with her, somehow. And that reminded her… "How did you know what I was researching tonight?"

"You told me when you got home."

She didn't remember that, either. Though if her memory was compromised, should that be a surprise? "I don't remember calling or texting you," she said, turning back to him. "And I still don't know how I got here."

Again, he took a few moments to answer her. "You drove your car here. I wasn't with you." He leaned closer to her and she moved back out of an automatic habit to keep a set amount of personal space between herself and, well, everyone she interacted with. He frowned, but didn't comment on it, only saying, "You mentioned your…apartment. Tell me exactly what happened tonight."

"That's the thing," she said, inwardly hating how weak her voice sounded. "I don't know. I don't _remember_."

_I don't know why I'm here. Or how I got here. Or why you don't seem concerned in the slightest that I'm in your house when it's almost midnight, and I'm beginning to think there's something truly wrong that no one knows about except –_

"What _do_ you remember?" he asked calmly, voice cutting into her increasingly anxious thoughts. She knew his tone – that tone meant everything would be okay. It meant that if there was a problem, they'd figure it out together.

She felt irrationally reassured, despite him having said nothing of the sort, and took a few breaths to calm herself. "I went home after work. Like usual. I had chips for dinner – save your judgement," she said quickly, seeing the look of disapproval on his face. "I started to do some research, then I was too tired to continue, so I put the TV on. And then I guess I drifted off…only to wake up in your living room."

"You went home after work," he repeated. "By that, you mean, you went to…"

"My apartment," she said, wondering how many times she'd have to say it.

He shut his eyes briefly. "Right. I think there's definitely something going on that neither of us can explain. We should run a few tests, perform some research before –"

"Don't do that," she ordered, irritation growing. She'd worked with him long enough to know when he was trying to distract her. Or keep something from her. "What aren't you telling me?"

He didn't answer her question, instead asking, "You have no idea why you might be here?"

"No!" she exclaimed. "Not only do I have no memory of coming over, but I don't know why I'd bother you at this time of night. If I had even the slightest idea, this whole situation would make a lot more sense, wouldn't it?"

He reached out, like he wanted to touch her, but dropped his hand before it could even get close. "I think it'd be best if we waited until tomorrow to talk about this," he told her, voice sounding somewhat distant. "I know you're tired, maybe when we're both more awake we can –"

"Don't," she warned. "Don't try to stall."

He still hesitated and she wished she could read the multitude of emotions that flickered across his face in those next few seconds. "I think we need to talk to the others to figure this out," he finally said.

"Figure _what_ out?" she persisted. "This isn't a dream, is it? Some kind of altered state, or coma?"

He shook his head. "You're as awake as I am."

"How do I know you're not saying that in my dream?"

He actually smiled a little at that. "You'll have to trust me."

She got to her feet and crossed the room. When she reached the white marble fireplace, she spun back around and found his gaze. "I can tell that you don't think I was drugged or anything."

He seemed mildly surprised at her words, but nodded in agreement. "I don't see any signs of that."

"And you'd tell me if you thought you did," she said, mostly to herself, "because you'd be worried and want me to get checked out." His face confirmed as much.

"I don't want to upset you," he began, slowly, "and I think that pretty much anything I tell you right now is going to upset you."

"I'm already upset," she promised, and when he just looked at her without speaking, she added, on the verge of begging, " _Talk_ to me. Please."

He obviously didn't want to, but she saw the moment he gave in from the way his shoulders dropped and he stared down at his clasped hands instead of looking at her. "You said it yourself – you don't remember how you got here. And from the other things you told me, about your apartment, and the way you're…" he trailed off, then sighed. "I think there's something going on with either your memory or…the timeline."

"Oh, that's just great!" she nearly-yelled. "Can't we go more than a month without this kind of thing?"

"We'll fix it," he swore, looking up again to meet her eyes across the room. "We'll figure out what's going on. We always do."

She nodded, knowing he was right. There was never anything they couldn't solve. And yet…something was still nagging at her. Maybe she could accept that she was missing parts of her memory, for some reason, or that the timeline had changed yet again in some way, but it felt like he was leaving out more than that…

She spun in a circle, taking in the room again as a whole – this room that seemed familiar in a way she couldn't place. She thought back to how he'd reacted upon first seeing her – that wasn't the behavior of someone whose co-worker had randomly wandered into their home, drugged, or suffering from amnesia, or otherwise. He was comfortable with her, they were wearing pajamas…hell, she was wearing the same ones she'd had on earlier that evening. At her apartment.

Things were adding up in a way that entirely unnerved her. And his behavior was at the core of it. "Why were you acting like everything was normal?" she demanded, unable to keep the accusation out of her voice.

He stared at her. "What?"

"When you first saw me. You didn't ask why I was here. Or _how_ I got here." She came back across the room until she was right next to the couch, glaring down at him. "It was like those questions didn't even occur to you."

"I really think we should wait," he said, again. "Get everyone together tomorrow and try to –"

"No," she said, pointing at him. "I want to know. Now." When he still didn't answer, she huffed in anger and turned to head for one of the doorways (there were at least three off of this room and she actually had no idea how to get out of the house, but she was sure she'd find an exit eventually). "You want to be uncooperative?" she tossed back at him. "Fine, then I'm going home. But don't think you're off the hook, I'm still going to demand answers tomorrow and –"

He was suddenly behind her, putting his hand on her shoulder and turning her around to face him. "You can't go back to your apartment," he told her.

Of anything he might have said, it figured that he'd choose the _one_ thing that had her edging toward irate. "What do you mean I _can't_ go home?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "I mean…you don't have an apartment to go back to."

"What the hell are you talking about!" she yelled, well-aware that she sounded somewhat hysterical, but she was at her wits' end. "Stop with the cryptic statements that answer nothing and just _tell me_ whatever it is that you clearly don't want to tell me!"

If she'd found his worried behavior strangely unsettling before, his expression now was much worse…it went beyond troubled; it was far too close to outright fear.

It took a lot for her to rein in her emotions, to keep her voice even when she asked, "Why are you looking at me like that? Why can't I go home?"

"Caitlin." It was the first time he'd said her name tonight and it startled her. Not so much her name itself (rare though it was for him to call her that), but it was more his tone that surprised her. There was a plea in it, a plea for her to remain calm, to not overreact (and how did she know that, how did she know what he was imploring when all he'd said was her _name_?).

And she swore she knew, she _knew_ what was coming before he finally met her eyes and said, "You _are_ home."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback, it really keeps me going! This story is taking place a little ways into the future.

 

Caitlin took a step back at his words.

_She was already home?_

A wave of dizziness crashed over her and her vision dimmed at the edges, legs trembling in a way that told her she might not be able to stand on her own much longer. She reached out for the couch to keep herself steady, but Harry was quicker and grabbed her arm.

"Maybe you should sit." It was more of an order than a suggestion, and he pushed her back onto the couch before she could respond.

She put her head in her hands and focused on keeping her breathing steady. When the light-headedness subsided, she glanced up to find him sitting across from her on the glass coffee table. The fear from before was still in his eyes and she wanted to tell him to stop being afraid because – because – she didn't know why, exactly, except that she hated seeing him look that way.

"I'm okay," she said, even though she wasn't.

"Yeah," he scoffed, "I can tell by the way you were about to pass out in front of me." There was the sarcasm she was so used to from him, and the familiarity of it actually _did_ make her feel much better.

"I only know this place as your home," she said, trying (and probably failing) to explain her reaction. "Or at least it _was_ your home, once upon a time. It was sold a while ago."

"It was never sold," he said. "That's not a loss of memory, that's you remembering something that didn't happen. Which means we're most likely dealing with a timeline change."

She'd figured as much, though it was reassuring to hear him agree with what she'd silently been leaning toward.

She dug her fingernails into her palms, trying to stay grounded with the mild pain. "When you said that I'm already home, you meant…"

He was obviously weighing what to say before settling on, "You live here."

"Did something happen at my place?" she asked. "Do I rent a room from you? Or, like, a guest house?" She knew what his words (and the situation) implied, but she had a feeling she needed to be careful about this, for more reasons than one. And there was always the chance her suspicions could be wrong.

"No, we – I don't have a guest house," he informed her, clearly being as cautious with his answers as she was with her questions. "You don't rent a room. We live here. Together."

"I get the 'together' part, since this is your house."

Once again, he seemed reluctant to go on (and she knew she couldn't blame him after her reaction thus far). Finally, he said, "It's not my house. It's _our_ house."

She was back on her feet before he'd finished his last sentence. "That's not possible," she protested, in disbelief. There was a big difference between suspecting something and hearing him actually _say_ it. Her head started buzzing again as she moved toward the nearest doorway.

"Where are you going?" he called, and she heard him get up, but he wasn't following her.

She ignored his question – the doorway in front of her led to a wide hall, maybe the foyer? There was no one out there. She reentered the insanely white living room. "Are the others here? Is this some elaborate practical joke?" She tried to laugh, hating how forced it sounded, and moved on to the next doorway.

He didn't intervene or otherwise try to stop her as she continued looking around. "You're not kidding, are you?" he eventually asked.

_He thought_ she _was the one who was kidding?_ That didn't bode well.

She turned to find him standing in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back. "Your reaction's so promising," he muttered. Then he added, more loudly, "There's no one else here."

"I don't understand what's going on," she said, voice pleading in a way she hadn't intended.

He advanced on her, stopping a couple feet shy of entering her personal space. "What kind of people do you know that would play that type of prank on you?" He was angry, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. "Do you really think _I_ would do that to you?"

"No," she admitted, in some kind of defeat, "you wouldn't. Our friends wouldn't, either." _Not in any timeline._ "I'm sorry, none of this is about you, or about them. Or about anything other than the fact that I'm not sure how to reconcile what you're telling me with the world I know."

His anger was already fading. "What world do _you_ know?"

She shut her eyes for a moment before opening them again. "It's different," she whispered. "You're trying to tell me that we both live here because…we're in a relationship, right?"

He didn't have to say anything to confirm it; the look on his face was enough.

"Okay," she said, and then found herself repeating it. "Okay." It was a lot to take in. _To accept_.

She could tell he knew what was coming, that he'd probably figured it out long before she had. Still, he asked, "In your world…"

"We're not," she finished, and that time, he was the one who had to look away.

She let the reality of it sink in for the first time – no denial of it, no searching for excuses to explain it away. She'd woken up in a world where she was in a relationship…with Harrison Wells.

And it was serious enough that they _lived_ together.

After Ronnie, she'd honestly never thought she'd reach such a point again. And if she _had_ , she never would have envisioned it with someone that was in her life already, never mind her boss. Even as she turned the idea over in her mind, she had to admit it made a certain amount of sense. They shared the same areas of interest, had similar passions, and lived for the same goals: namely, helping people. They'd lived parallel lives for a long time, so maybe it wasn't that far-fetched that they might develop feelings for each other. But even still, to arrive there in an instant, a virtual snap of her fingers (due to some fluke in the universe?) made it quite the shock to hear.

She glanced over to find him watching her (he kept doing that) and suddenly all she could see was the man she'd known before she'd fallen asleep. Because he _was_ that man, wasn't he? With one major difference – how he felt about her. (Which only made her wonder: how had she felt about him? Obviously strongly enough that she'd moved in with him.)

The more she thought about it, the more she could admit that if she had to go through this, she was glad it was with him. She couldn't say why, exactly, but it probably had something to do with how well they got along in her own time. He was brilliant enough that she knew they'd find out what was happening, but more than that, she'd come to trust him implicitly during his past year with their team. She couldn't really imagine how she'd have reacted if she woke up 'with' anyone else, whether it was someone she knew, or a much worse alternative…like an actual stranger. How would she have even _begun_ to deal with –

A jolt of horror shot through her. She had _no_ idea which Harrison Wells this was and he hadn't said anything to indicate as much. If things were different enough that she was in a relationship with him, literally anything else might have changed. He could be the original Harrison Wells from her Earth, or another version from some other Earth, or – her heart nearly stopped at her next thought: _What if Eobard had pretended to be Harry here, too…and never stopped?_

She met his eyes, frantically. "Where are you from?"

He picked up on her urgency and crossed the room to her. "What?"

She gripped the front of his shirt, wondering what she was going to do if he gave the wrong answer. "Just tell me."

He ran his hands up her arms, stopping at her shoulders, and she felt the reassurance in his touch. "I'm from what you people annoyingly labeled Earth-2."

She searched his eyes, looking for the truth, and it was there. She didn't know how she knew it, she just _knew it_. Her relief was instant, so much so that she collapsed against him, resting her forehead on his chest. "Oh, thank God."

"You really had no idea which one I might be?"

"In my defense," she said shakily, as she leaned back, "there have been a lot of you. I mean, I assumed it was _you_ , because of how you are…but then I thought, what if I was wrong? Eobard tricked us for a long time."

"Yeah, I know." His eyes darkened as he moved his hands to cover hers and it was only then that she realized she was still holding onto his shirt. "We haven't seen him in a long time, so hopefully we don't have to worry about him ever again."

"I can only hope," she agreed, moving back, and he automatically released his grip to let her go.

"I'm happy that I'm the one you wanted me to be. Out of however many versions of me you might have known."

"You're the one I –" She broke off, not entirely sure where she'd been going with that. She regrouped, and met his eyes. "You're the only one who makes sense to me." Neither of them said anything for a few moments, and then a gradual ringing grew in her ears. Everything seemed far away, including him, and she felt hot all over. It was probably a chemical rush of endorphins and – no, she wasn't going to analyze her reaction to whatever this was – she was going to control it.

She snapped her gaze away from his and walked over to a gray couch that was closer to the fireplace (and what a bright spot in the room it was). She needed some distance, and he must have known that, since he didn't follow her or say anything. After a minute, when she was close to feeling normal again, she turned around to face him, leaning against the back of the couch.

"Alright, we're in agreement that it's probably a timeline thing," she said, mostly to herself, "because if I had amnesia or something along those lines, I wouldn't have different memories than you, they'd just be missing."

"Right," he agreed. "Unless –"

"– our times are different," she finished his thought. (It was something they regularly did, in her reality, and she let herself revel in the moment of familiarity.)

"Here it's November of 2017," he told her.

"Oh good, that's when it was for me," she said. "That means I don't have to worry about being older than I remember."

"Yeah," he said, dryly, "you really lucked out. Fantastic job of finding the real concern here."

"Sorry, I know after a certain age it matters less." She tilted her head, considering him. "I'm sure you reached that point long ago."

Something flashed in his eyes and it took him a moment to clear the look away.

When he didn't say anything, she couldn't resist asking, "What?"

"It's just…we joke about our ages all the time. For my last birthday you gave me a cane."

"I did?" She started laughing. "Oh my god, I'm hilarious."

"It's in a closet somewhere around here. I like having it handy in case I ever need to keep you in line."

"You could try," she said, "but I'm sure I could outrun you since I have youth on my side."

"You don't know where anything is in this house," he countered. "I have the advantage."

"Is this the way we are?" she asked, as her laughter faded. "I mean, with each other?"

His smile back to her was faint. "Pretty much, yeah."

All of a sudden, she felt much more sober. "And with the timeline change, I somehow have no memories of it." It was a strange feeling to miss something that, as far as she remembered, she'd never had.

"It's probably Allen's fault," he said, without hesitation.

"He swore he wouldn't go back in time anymore."

"Yeah, but he's Allen!" Harry exclaimed. "You know how he is, he could easily make up some reason to justify it."

"Maybe it'd be a good one," she defended. "Like saving all of us?"

"Fine, I'll give him that," Harry said, begrudgingly.

"How generous of you."

"Forgive me if I'm not exactly feeling charitable toward him at the moment. He might have just irrevocably changed our lives." He glanced over at her and he just looked…lost. "You don't remember this life. You don't remember _us_. If this is his fault…"

"Hey," she said, gently, "if this is his fault – and that's a big _if_ – then I think there's pretty compelling evidence that the only reason we're here together in the first place is because of him."

"Stop that," he complained (though she could tell by the levity in his tone that her point had made an impact). "You know how much I hate it when you use logic against me."

"Do I?" She raised an eyebrow. "Good to know."

When he smiled at her, much wider than before, she found herself immensely relieved. She didn't want him to be worried or upset or furious at Barry or – whatever else. It was odd, too, because she'd never really given his state of mind much thought, but now it seemed almost imperative that he was…okay.

She decided to chalk it up to the fact that she needed him now in a way she never had before. If they were going to fix this (if there was any way _to_ fix it) he had to be able to think rationally and not get lost in a whirlwind of negative emotions that he had every right to feel.

She tried to imagine living in a world where she was in love, then waking up one day to find that person didn't remember any of their relationship; it was too painful to dwell on for more than a few seconds. She felt awful all over again, but this time it wasn't for her situation. It was for _his_.

Guilt washed over her, even though none of this had been her choice. If she could fix it right then, she would have, but she couldn't. She sighed loudly, letting herself fall over the back of the couch she was leaning against and just laid on it, staring up at the ceiling again. (God, why was she so _tired_?)

"I need some answers," she said, and a second later Harry was leaning over the back of said couch, staring down at her. It occurred to her that he seemed a little different from the Harrison she knew. She didn't mean physically; it was mostly that there was a different air about him. He seemed lighter, somehow, like maybe he hadn't been as worn down by the world. From the things he'd said, she guessed that he'd ( _they'd_ ) had a pretty good life. Until this.

She wondered if he was disappointed, now, whenever he looked at her.

"Answers about what?" His question snapped her out of her melancholy turn of thoughts.

"This timeline. If we're operating under the theory that it changed, why wasn't I affected? I mean, apparently I was, as you could attest, but my memories didn't change like they were supposed to." And what an odd statement that was to make – to acknowledge that if things had worked the way they had with previous timeline changes, she'd have woken up in his – _their_ – home and never known her life had been drastically different a few hours before.

He came around the couch and she pulled her knees up so he could sit on the end of it. "In my experience," he said, "it's the person who caused the change that keeps their memories. Have you been running back in time lately?"

"Not that I'm aware of," she said, propping her head on a throw pillow (beige, of course) to see him better. "The only thing I did was fall asleep."

"We'll have to check with the others about their memories tomorrow. Though I haven't heard from anyone tonight, so I'm going to assume for the moment that they're fine."

"And who are the others?" she asked, trying to push down her dread at what he might say. _Anything_ was possible. Some of them could be in other places, or they could have new people working with them that she didn't know. There wasn't even any guarantee that everyone she'd known was still alive.

He started telling her the basics about his timeline (which was hers right now, too, she supposed). She relaxed the more he spoke, since almost everything seemed to fit with her reality – the people they knew were the same and there were no tragedies or other losses – at least, not ones that she hadn't already worked through (seeing as she'd lost Ronnie here, too). Her mother was still alive and well (and they didn't get along). She and Harry worked at S.T.A.R. Labs with Cisco, where they mostly tried to help Barry keep the city safe from dangerous meta-humans, and Barry still had an annoying habit of changing the timeline every once in a while. Jesse lived with Wally in an apartment near S.T.A.R. Labs, where they both worked part-time, and Caitlin inwardly smiled at hearing that was the same, too. They were happy together, from what she knew, and she was glad that hadn't changed for them.

It wasn't until near the end of his quick rundown that she noted another major change: according to him, Iris and Barry had been dating for nearly three years.

"For me, they've only been together a year," she told him.

"Interesting," he murmured. "That's the only thing that stands out from what I've told you?"

"We'll have to go over things in more detail at some point, but yeah, that's pretty much it," she said. "I can't tell you how happy I am that almost everything's the same. I was half-expecting you to say someone I know doesn't exist. Or that they'd died." She mulled over what he'd told her, mainly the other key difference aside from her and Harry. "If Barry and Iris have been together for three years –"

"– that's a definite change that goes back to a set point before we even met," he concluded. "It might be worth starting to look there."

She put her arm behind her head and grinned at him in agreement. For a moment, it was like they were in her reality, working out the details of some formula or problem that eluded them both individually, until they joined forces and quickly had a breakthrough. They'd had plenty of moments like that and she loved every single one of them; it was reassuring to know their dynamic could still be the same.

"We can ask Barry and Iris tomorrow what precipitated them getting together," he suggested.

"If they've been together three times as long as I'm used to, are they out of their I-can't-get-enough-of-you-phase?" she asked. "It was getting kind of hard to take." She stopped, a bit surprised at herself. Why had she told him that, like it was second nature to share that kind of thing with him? She never would have told Harry (or anyone) that before.

He wasn't surprised in the least, though. "You've told me that's how you felt when they first got together here. Guess your feelings on it are consistent across time."

"I know it's not their fault, but it always made me feel kind of bad to see them together. Like it was another reminder of everything I'd lost. Then I'd feel guilty for thinking that way," she admitted, still sharing much more than she'd meant to. Well, it probably didn't matter, since she could only imagine all the things she'd told him already.

"If it makes you feel any better, we almost outdid them when we first got together, and only partially to annoy them. They still like to claim that we're annoyingly affectionate, too."

Her eyes widened at that. It was hard to imagine Harrison Wells being affectionate with anyone, especially in front of other people…or anywhere, for that matter. And with _her_?

He must have read the surprise on her face and shifted uncomfortably. "Maybe I'm sharing too much."

"No, I'm fascinated." She waved at him in encouragement. "Do go on."

"Cisco, in particular, loves to take offense at our relationship. He dates a lot, yet he remains perpetually single."

"That hasn't changed much, then. He was always on the lookout for the next perfect woman. I wish he'd found her here."

"He's Ramon," Harry said dismissively, "he'll be fine."

"Yup, that's the Harrison I remember."

Perhaps he knew better than to respond to that directly, switching back to their prior subject. "I know you told me that, for you, we weren't in a relationship…"

"Not even close."

"And we never were?" He seemed genuinely skeptical. "We never dated or anything? Not even a past relationship that didn't work out?"

"No. Again, not even close. All of this," she motioned around them, "and us – I'm still having trouble processing it." She tried to think how best to sum up what they were to each other in her time. "We're friends. We work together. We love what we do, so I guess you could say that work is our life. And you have Jesse, of course."

"Right, that all sounds familiar because it's true here, as well." He twisted on the couch to face her more fully. "This is going to weirdly sound like I'm hitting on you," he began, reluctantly, "but are you single?"

She understood his reluctance – he must have been apprehensive about her answer. "I'm single. I have been for a long time."

He breathed out, obviously relieved. "I was worried you were going to say you were with someone else. Maybe even someone we knew." He settled his arm along the back of the couch. "What about me? Was I with anyone?"

She flicked her gaze from the ceiling, to him, and back again. "Oh yeah, you were a player for sure."

Instead of being flattered, like she thought he might be, he only squinted at her. "Really?"

"No, not really," she said, as he sent her a look. "Sorry. I couldn't resist."

"Me?" he quipped. "Now I think you get it."

"Funny." She absently went to stretch her legs out, then quickly stopped when she realized he was still in her way. "As for your question, you weren't dating anyone. In fact, I don't think you ever have since you came to our Earth. Not that I knew of, anyways."

He nodded, like that confirmed something for him. "That makes a lot more sense to me." He'd gone back to watching her, and she sent him a questioning look. "Sorry, I just find it really hard to believe that we weren't together."

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"I can't picture any version of our world where I don't love you."

She looked back up at the ceiling, needing a moment after hearing that. Her heart had twisted in some way; she had no idea why he'd believe such a thing. "You'd say that after everything we've seen? Knowing about all the possible timelines and other Earths?"

"I meant 'our world' as in the one here, on this Earth, with who I am now, and the woman that I know you to be. I can't imagine that the timelines for us here could be that drastically different."

She pressed her hands to her stomach, considering his statement. "I think, in my timeline, that you do love me. As a friend. That's the way we all love each other."

"No," he countered, half-smirking, "I was probably secretly in love with you."

She laughed, trying to picture that. He couldn't be right…could he? No… "I really don't think that's the case. And if you were, you were good at hiding it."

"Have you met me?"

Okay, he had a point. "You did tend to keep your feelings pretty well-guarded."

"That sounds accurate," he agreed, studying her. "So we weren't together, yet you were still single. How is that possible?" There was a new glint in his eyes. "Are you sure you didn't have any hidden feelings for me? Perhaps that you'd buried, deep down?"

"Not that I recall," she said, dryly. "I never meant to stay single, it just kind of happened." She thought back to her husband. It didn't hurt to think of him anymore, not the way it once had, but it still left her sad. "You know I had Ronnie and he died. Twice."

He tapped her ankle in quiet sympathy.

"After that, I focused on other things, like the work we did together, and helping Barry. Maybe it was easier to avoid the entire thing, at the risk of getting hurt again." She'd never thought about it too deeply, and she was only now realizing that maybe she should have.

"There was never anyone after him?"

"No. I had no interest in anyone else." _Except_ … "Unless you count Jay." She cringed and threw an arm over her eyes. "Or rather, Hunter. Zoom. Whatever name he went by that day."

"We had Zoom." He sat up straighter, realization dawning. "Wait, are you telling me you dated Hunter Zolomon?!"

She knew a little something about the horror in his voice – she shared it, actually. "I didn't date him, we just got coffee a couple times." She paused a beat, finding it painful to get the next words out: "I liked him."

"You _liked_ him?" He was close to shouting. "That's even worse!"

"It kind of is," she had to agree. "It was a time I try not to relive, if at all possible."

"I'm tempted to make a remark about your taste in men, but…" he gestured to himself, not having to say anything more.

She actually had to laugh at that. "You're not going to take the opportunity to say my taste's pretty great?"

"Eh, it's enough of a fact – _here_ , at least – that it goes without saying."

She nudged his leg with her foot. "Relax, I didn't like him _that_ much. Plus, it was before we knew how psychotic he was." After the fact, she'd wondered how she hadn't known, if there had been signs she might have missed, but she knew it wasn't worth berating herself over. The past was the past, and that was where it stayed…usually.

"I suppose your caveat makes it better," he allowed, before clarifying pettily, "a _little_."

"If he was in this time, too, does that mean that he…"

"Took you? Yeah, he did. It was one of the worst times of my life. First Jesse, and then you after we'd gotten her back." He was staring off into some distance only he could see. "I think it was one of the worst times I've ever lived through."

"We hadn't known each other very long at that point. We weren't together yet, were we?"

"No, but I liked you. A lot. I've always suspected he could tell and that was why he chose you out of everyone – to twist the knife a little more in retaliation for me turning to you guys for help." He sent her another disbelieving look. "I can't believe you liked him."

"The better question is why _didn't_ I like him here?" she asked. "That's another change."

He raised his eyebrows at her. "After everything you've learned about this timeline, you can't figure that out?"

"I didn't like him because of _you_?" she guessed, and his look back at her merely said ' _Obviously_.' "Wow."

"I'll try not to take your blatant shock as an insult," he said, rolling his eyes. "You told me how you felt later on, after we'd gotten together. You'd liked me for much longer than I knew." He was back to being angry again. "And he almost took you from me before we ever got a chance with each other."

"I still have nightmares about him," she admitted, quietly. "I wake up –"

"– screaming," he filled in. "I know."

Right, he must have known. He must have _seen_ it. "Guess I'm tortured in every timeline. It's too bad that part of my life had to stay the same. I was hoping, for my other self's sake, she hadn't experienced that." In fact, Caitlin found herself oddly envious of this version of her life, because here she'd had someone to help.

He looked troubled by what she'd said. "You have nightmares and you're alone?"

She swallowed and looked away. "Yeah, it's miserable, but I'm used to it." That was an understatement, of course. Maybe an outright lie. She never knew when they'd come – it could be two nights in a row, or months in between them, but they were always the same: she'd know that she was going to die there with Hunter and she woke up right when he killed her (and usually in a different way each time – it was terrifying some of the methods her subconscious dreamed up).

She'd gotten used to dealing with it on her own, even if 'dealing with it' meant getting up for the day at 2 am because she couldn't risk falling back into that horrific nightmare more than once in the same night.

"You're not alone here."

She let the silence last a little too long, recognizing his offer. (It kind of made her want to cry.) "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks," she said, and it came out sounding much more grateful than she'd realized. She'd been alone for so long that she'd forgotten what it felt like not to be.

"You've thanked me many times. It's never necessary."

"I don't remember any of those times," she pointed out.

"Yeah," he said, sighing, almost like he'd forgotten. "While we're sharing, I was trying to find the right time to tell you that there are other things we have to talk about."

She pushed herself up on her elbows. "Like what?"

"Like we don't _just_ live together."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What does that mean?"

"Our relationship is a little more serious than that." He paused, as if considering. "Or a lot more serious, I guess."

She frowned at his choice of phrasing. "More serious?"

"Yeah, and you got pretty upset before about the 'living together' part, so I held off."

He was talking in circles around whatever it was, which meant that he wasn't sure how she'd react. "What is it?" She tried to brace herself for his answer. "We're serious as in 'we're really committed to each other'?"

"Uh," he waved his hand in a 'come-on, keep going' gesture.

"Were we talking about getting engaged?"

He repeated the motion.

"We're _actually_ engaged?" The moment he moved his hand again she kicked her foot out against it. "Stop that!"

"In all fairness to me, this is taking you way more steps than I thought it would," he said, shaking out his hand and then pushing her foot back down to the couch.

"Don't make me kick you again."

"There's only one logical level above engaged."

"You can't possibly mean that – that we're…"

In response to her inability to finish the statement, he nodded.

"We're _married_?" she gasped. "You gave me a basic rundown of things and _that's_ something you didn't think was worth mentioning?"

"Like I said, I wasn't sure how you'd react." He winced slightly. "I had to pick my moment. So, uh, congratulations?"

"Congratulations," she repeated, incredulous. "That's what you choose to say to me."

"Hey, look on the bright side," he said, much more cheerfully, "at least you get to be married to me!"

Yeah, she definitely wanted to kick him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the responses, I'm glad other people are enjoying this!

 

"I don't like the look in your eyes."

"What look?" she asked, trying for innocent (and damn, was she going to have to work twice as hard now to keep him from reading every thought she had?).

He glanced at her feet, which were a few inches from his legs.

"I'm not going to kick you," she insisted.

"Sure," he said, skeptically, "but just in case." Before she could react, he quickly pushed her legs off the couch.

"Hey," she yelped, scrambling for purchase on the cushions, since the move had automatically turned her sideways and left her lying half-off the couch at an incredibly awkward angle.

"Sorry, but I feel better now," he said, grabbing her arm and hauling her back up so she was sitting next to him, this time with her feet firmly on the floor.

"I didn't appreciate that," she scowled, shaking off his grip. "It has to qualify as abuse." She glared at him. "Spousal abuse, apparently."

"Not abuse, preemptive self-defense," he corrected. "I'd like to point out that you _already_ kicked my hand."

"Please, that was barely a tap," she scoffed. "The Harrison Wells I know can take much worse than that." She sent him a sideways glance. "Without whining."

"You're not wrong," he said, barely hiding his smile. "I can also give as good as I get. You have a pass for now, though. Considering the circumstances."

It took her a second to remember those circumstances: waking up to find out she lived with – _was married_ to him. (Had that really slipped her mind, even momentarily?)

"How the hell are we married? We've only known each other…" How long exactly? Had she met him in February? Or March? It had been cold, she remembered that much.

"A year and a half," he supplied. When she stared at him blankly, he added, "I see I really made an impression on you."

"It's not that," she said, getting up on her knees and moving closer to him, willing him to understand the urgency. "We can't be married!"

"So we've come full circle to denial again?"

She was still stuck on the 'how' of it. "What'd you do, propose on the first date or something?"

"Actually," he turned more towards her, pulling one of his legs up onto the couch, " _you_ brought up marriage first."

"No, that's…" she trailed off, thinking of all the promises she'd made to herself after Ronnie died. The strict set of rules she'd established to make sure if anything like this ever happened again, it damn well better be worth it. "That can't be true."

"It's true," he said, firmly. "And let me say, I especially love how awful the idea seems to you." His tone was light but she heard the thread of worry underneath it.

"It's not that," she swore, urgency returning to her voice. How could he think that she'd be upset about _him_? "It's not you. It's the entire situation. I'm just…surprised." When he said nothing, her heart sank. "You don't believe me? I'm telling the truth, I wouldn't lie about –"

His face softened. "You can stop, Snow. I believe you."

Her breath caught. "You still call me that?"

He was puzzled at her question. "From time to time, usually when I'm trying to make a point." She was silent, so he continued, "Do you like something else? I'll use whatever you prefer. Caitlin, Cait, Lin, Caitie –"

"No!" she yelled, then forced herself to lower the volume of her voice. "I mean, it doesn't really matter to me, so 'Snow' is fine."

He was watching her intently. Like he could see right through her. "That's not true."

She deliberately avoided his gaze. "I don't know what –"

"You're used to me calling you 'Snow', aren't you?"

Her shoulders slumped at being caught. "Most of the time," she admitted. "I liked it." And now it felt familiar to her, comforting in a way she hadn't realized she needed.

"It makes sense I'd call you that," he was saying to himself. " _Of course_ I'd use a name that kept you at a distance."

"What?" She was surprised. "No, that's not it. It's just a shortened form of 'Dr. Snow' which is what you used at first. You dropped the 'Dr.' part and…" He'd never taken to calling her by her first name. Even when she'd dropped the formality on her part and started calling him by his first name, he'd almost never responded in kind. She was rarely, if ever, 'Caitlin' to him. She hadn't given much thought as to why. Not until now.

He seemed convinced he'd figured it out, from the certainty in his tone. "Instead of staying professional, like I no doubt intended, it became a term of affection."

"It's not a term of _anything_ ," she insisted. "It's a name. My name. That's it."

"Uh huh."

"You're implying that he called me by my last name because he had some hidden feelings for me and that I ended up liking it because I liked _him_? No, you're crazy," she argued, laughing weakly. "You're seeing what you want to see, through the lens of how this timeline turned out."

"The 'he' you're talking about is really _me_. So yeah, I think I'd have some insight. But whatever you want to believe." He paused for a moment. " _Snow_."

"Stop it!" she exclaimed, knowing she was starting to blush. "Now you're just being difficult."

"Yeah, maybe," he allowed, laughing in his own right. "I'm just calling it like I see it."

"Well, you see it _wrong_ ," she declared…but did he really? Because he wasn't wrong when he pointed out that he was the same as the man in her timeline. This wasn't a different Harrison Wells from some other Earth – this was still the one she'd known, he'd just traveled a slightly different path than the Harrison in her original timeline. Who would know his own true motivations better than him?

What if the only difference between him here and him in the other timeline was that here he'd ended up in the relationship he'd wanted, and there…he hadn't?

He wasn't saying anything, just watching her as she contemplated the possibility that maybe she hadn't known her own life, and the people in it, as well as she'd thought.

"It's hard to believe things could be so different," she told him. "To the point that we're married. I mean…are you sure?"

"You know, now that you mention it…" he began, and then rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Seeing as I was there." He tipped his head toward her. "By the way, so were you."

She absently rubbed her ring finger – wait a minute, there was no ring. A glance at his left hand revealed he didn't have one, either. "If we're married," she said, suspiciously, "how come we're not wearing rings?"

"We have them, but we're not really ring people. We've both done that before." His voice had turned more somber. "It reminded us of the past and we both agreed we want to look toward the future."

The future…she made it a point to focus on that, too. It was better than dwelling on a past she could never change. They'd both lost one of the most important people that someone could lose. Nothing compared. She wondered if they'd bonded over that? Maybe. Probably.

"Besides," he said, breaking her out of her thoughts, "my ring tends to get in the way when I pick up other women."

His tone was so deadpan that she believed him for a split second before recognizing what he'd done. He must have realized what she'd been thinking about, and not wanted her to become too…sad? Miserable? Lost?

Why, _why_ , was her heart turning over again?

If that was the way they helped each other forget, two could play at that game. "Do we have an open marriage?" she asked, innocently. "Because I was actually hoping that'd be the case."

His joking manner instantly vanished. "What?" he bit out.

"I see how it is," she said, managing not to smile. "You can make a joke and I can't?"

"I don't know what kind of timeline you're from," he protested. "It could be filled with – with wantonness and debauchery!" He stood, apparently too worked up to continue sitting next to her, and waved his arms for emphasis. "Wickedness and sin!"

"Serious question," she told him, flatly. "Where do you think I'm from? The 1930's?"

"You could be from a polyamorous society," he said, defending his ridiculous assertions. "How would I know?"

"Well, I'm not. And even if I were, ugh, no." She shuddered at the very idea. "God help me if that were the case. I'm beginning to think I get exasperated enough just from dealing with _one_ relationship."

"So you love telling me." He folded his arms and stared down at her. "For some reason."

"For some reason," she repeated, pressing her hands to her mouth, like she was at a loss. "Gee, I wonder what that could be…"

"You lucked out with me," he informed her, arrogantly. "And I was kidding. Mostly. From what you've said, we probably don't have to worry about any major societal differences between our timelines."

She nodded, thoughtfully. "Right, and our lives are mostly the same, except for…you know." She gestured between them. "Us."

"Which is probably the biggest challenge of all," he admitted, sighing. He sat down next to her again and ran his hands through his hair a few times. It left a few pieces on the side sticking up at odd angles and she automatically reached over to smooth them down. Once she realized what she was doing, she wrenched her hand back.

"Sorry," she offered, for lack of anything else to say. "I don't know why I did that."

"You _are_ allowed to touch me, you know."

"Yeah, sure," she said, awkwardly. (He'd told her they were affectionate, after all.) "It's just, we don't – I don't – that is…"

"You never liked to touch people; you still don't." He seemed to be thinking about something. "Unless it's…"

"You?" she guessed, and his slight nod confirmed as much. He'd touched her a few times, but mostly he'd stopped himself. "Is that why you're trying to avoid…"

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Yet I think I'm unintentionally doing it anyways."

"It's not you," she promised. " _You_ have never made me uncomfortable." Quite the opposite, actually. "It's this…situation. I need some time to deal with it."

"That's completely fair," he said. "You're already doing a lot better than most people would if they experienced such a drastic change to their world. You're not having a breakdown, for one. That's a good sign."

"Would that make you feel better?" she offered, as she looked around, eyes stopping on a vase full of white (shocking!) lilies on the mantle. "I could throw those flowers at you and then leave in a fit of rage."

"While that would make for quite a scene, we both know you couldn't do either of those things."

She sighed in defeat. "Yeah, you're right." When it came to problems, her modus operandi was to deny there was an issue in the first place, and if that didn't work, she'd just shut down emotionally. Fits of rage weren't really her thing and never had been. They were too chaotic, too unpleasant, and necessitated a lack of control that she abhorred. Control was one of the last things she clung to, no matter how much her world might be disintegrating around her. "I had enough of outbursts like that growing up, watching my parents fight, and I swore I'd never…"

"Become them."

"Right." She was starting to not be surprised when he knew things he shouldn't have known. "This might sound silly, but do we…get along?"

"You mean do we fight?" He'd easily discerned what she was really asking. "Hardly ever, and not the way you're thinking. We'll argue, but we work things out, most of the time pretty calmly." He looked her up and down. "I can't lie, though. Sometimes things do get physical."

"What?" she whispered, as horrified visions of the two of them throwing things at each other crossed her mind.

"Yeah, sometimes I have to fight you off when I've had a long day and you just can't stop yourself from wanting me –"

"Stop," she ordered, pushing him on the shoulder. "You're…how do I deal with you. Honestly."

"A lot of patience. And," he indicated the room with a sweep of his arm, "I keep you living in style."

"Maybe I married you for your money," she suggested, flippantly.

"It's definitely possible. It's fine if you did, though. In exchange, you make an adequate trophy wife."

" _Adequate_?" She was trying to sound annoyed, but it wasn't really working.

"You don't wait on me, for one, so you need to work on that," he advised, overly serious. "Also, your attitude, at times, leaves a lot to be desired."

She almost gave in and smiled, but she wanted to keep up their game. "Sounds like you got a pretty bad deal."

He was already shaking his head. "Nah, I think it's worked out okay for me."

She propped her arm against the back of the couch and leaned her head against the side of her hand. She tried to picture a wedding with him, but nothing came to mind except fuzzy, imaginary details that were too similar to her wedding to Ronnie. "What was it like? Our wedding?"

He went to retrieve a framed picture off a cherry credenza pushed up against the wall between the windows. "See for yourself," he said, handing it over as he retook his seat next to her. "We have some albums you put together, too, but it'd probably be too much to look through those now. This picture, though…it's our favorite."

She'd seen the line of framed photos earlier, from across the room, but had been too caught up in all the other revelations to give them more than a quick glance. Now that she held this one in her hands, she recognized that it was, indeed, a wedding photo. One of _their_ wedding photos. Her vision blurred, making everything in the image fuzzy, so she shut her eyes and willed her mind to stop playing tricks on her.

When she looked again, the picture was completely in focus. It wasn't a formal shot, with everyone expertly staged and directing perfect smiles at the camera – it was a more candid image that had been taken in front of a grove of trees, with a small white gazebo partially visible in the background. It wasn't just her and Harry, either; going by the attire, it looked to be their wedding party. Iris and Barry were there, along with Cisco, Wally, and Jesse. Not a single person was directly looking at the photographer: Iris and Barry were gazing at each other and grinning in the left side of the frame, and on the opposite side, Cisco was smiling at Wally and Jesse who were slightly in front of him. It seemed like he was trying to urge the two of them to look toward the camera, and they were just barely facing it while resisting his efforts – in fact, it looked like they were both about to turn and push him backwards in retaliation.

Caitlin took a steadying breath and turned her attention to the middle of the picture, which she'd studiously been avoiding. That was definitely her, in a short-sleeved ivory wedding gown, the edges bordered with lace. Her hair was upswept with small white and violet flowers that matched the simple bouquet she was holding. And the man standing next to her – that was, indeed, Harrison Wells. She was looking up at him, smiling with a certain kind of adoration. It looked like he'd just said something to her that she clearly enjoyed hearing. He was the only one in the photo not smiling – he didn't have to be. The expression on his face, as he gazed down at her…she didn't know if she could put it into words. He looked like a man who had everything with him that mattered in his life.

Caitlin studied both of their faces, much longer than she needed to, because even a quick glance revealed they were happy. Beyond happy. Anyone looking at the picture could see they were in love. She could practically _feel_ the emotion in the photo just from gazing at it and it left her speechless.

She had no idea why she felt like crying, but she suspected it had something to do with knowing she was capable of feeling that kind of love again and not being able to remember it. She ran her finger over the glass, over the grove of trees and her upswept hair. Over the smile on her face, and the look on his.

"I had a plan," she whispered, unsure if she was speaking to him, or herself, or the couple in the picture.

"Dating, and then living with someone, for a minimum of two years before even considering marriage," he said, revealing he knew all about it. "Followed by an engagement period lasting another year, at least."

"I threw out that plan for you," she said, and it wasn't a question, not really. The answer was evident: she didn't need the picture to see that – him sitting next to her was enough.

"That was a plan made by a woman who was uncertain about her future and what she might want from it. You needed guidelines to ensure everything made sense." He ran his thumb along the side of the frame, and she got the feeling it was another of those times where he wanted to touch her, but wasn't sure if it'd be welcome. "What's the point in waiting when you know what you want?"

She couldn't look over at him, waving the picture slightly in his direction, instead. "This is real."

"It's very real," he murmured. "At least, it is to me. And everyone we know."

She took a shaky breath and let it out slowly. She dropped the picture onto her lap and ran her hands up the sides of her neck, resting her palms against the back of her head. The longer she stared at those people, the more – and less – she recognized them.

He reached over, and when she didn't protest, he took the photo back. "It was real to you, too."

She finally looked up. "I never said it wasn't."

"You look like I've just showed you a picture of ghosts."

"How would you feel if I showed you a photo of yourself doing something that you never lived? Or, at least, didn't remember living?"

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more, and then stopped.

"I heard you say it, and I believed you, but seeing it, that's something else entirely. It's real," she repeated, at a loss for other words, "in a –"

"– different way."

 _You get it_ , she thought. _You understand_. And it made perfect sense, since he was seeing it from the other side…which was maybe the worse side to be on.

"When did we get mar–" she tripped over the word, and tried again, "married?"

"Last April. You've lived here longer, though. You moved in last fall."

"A year ago," she muttered, scanning the room again. "Why haven't I redecorated anything in here? How much are you bribing me to leave it this way?"

He looked around with her. "What's wrong with the main living room?"

"The _main_ one? How many are there?"

"Like…three? Four? It depends on how you define a 'living room' –"

"Don't get me wrong, I grew up pretty well-off, but nothing like this. It's so…bright. Which is saying something considering the sun's not even up."

"I'll have you know that you love this room," he tried.

"No, I don't."

"No, you don't," he agreed, cracking a smile. "But it flows with the aesthetic of the house."

She looked at him, trying to determine if he was being serious – she had a feeling he was. "Because the aesthetic's important?"

"I happen to think so."

"It's too white. It's too _clean_! What if I spilled a drink in here, it would stain everything it touched."

"Oh, no," he said quickly, "there's no food or drink allowed in here."

"I honestly can't tell if you're kidding."

He leaned closer to her. "Pro tip: I'm always kidding."

She shook her head. "I don't remember you making this many jokes."

"We weren't married in your time."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"If we weren't in a relationship," he began to explain, "then that means you never got to experience the heights of my charm. I try to keep it turned off most of the time so as to not make myself too attractive to people. It's not worth the constant hassle of having to turn them down."

"That must mean that in _my_ time your strategy's really working," she said.

"Ouch, that hurts," he said, playfully. "I'm glad you still have such a cruel wit."

"How do you even have this place?" she asked. "In my time, it was sold because you were a wanted fugitive. You're still working on trying to clear your name."

"I did that a long time ago," he said. "After Barry turned S.T.A.R. Labs over to me, that was my main priority."

"Right," she said. "That latter part happened for us, too. Barry didn't want to deal with running it. It was –"

"– too much for him," Harry supplied.

"Yeah, going after meta-humans, plus his day job as a crime scene tech, and then trying to run S.T.A.R. Labs…he was going crazy."

"Don't remind me of the disaster that was," Harry groaned. "It took me weeks to straighten things out with our investors. Not to mention the campaign I had to undertake to restore the public's trust in us."

Barry had agonized over what to do for months before deciding he trusted Earth-2 Harry enough to let him run the lab and take over being their boss (though most of the time, it was in name only). Caitlin had actually found it a relief. Although she loved Barry and greatly appreciated what he did for their city, the stress of running the lab had taken its toll on him and was adversely affecting his health, not to mention it was driving everyone who worked there crazy. Barry simply wasn't very good at managing the day-to-day operations of S.T.A.R. Labs and he'd finally admitted he couldn't do it. Or perhaps, in a finer distinction, he didn't _want_ to do it.

"You have no idea how happy I was the day Barry told us he'd decided to take you up on your offer to run things."

"I have some idea," Harry said, which reminded her that he'd seen it here, too. "Once I was in charge, I used that as a springboard to prove my innocence. It wasn't too difficult, after the public learned about meta-humans, to show them proof that someone had impersonated me. Or rather, that Eobard had impersonated your original Harrison Wells. I did a _60 Minutes_ interview and everything." He was getting more excited the more he explained. "Want to see it?"

She barely hid her amusement at his obvious enthusiasm. "Maybe another time."

"Alright, but you're missing out. It was a thing of beauty. I had Leslie Stahl eating out of the palm of my hand." He was absurdly proud of himself. "You should know that after it aired, I became something of a beloved public figure. As far as everyone's concerned, I was held captive the whole time, and they think I'm this Earth's original Harrison Wells." At her questioning glance, he added, "Meta-humans were hard enough to get people to accept, we didn't want to get into trying to explain other Earths."

She regarded him with mild skepticism. "You're a 'beloved public figure'?"

"It was a natural consequence after I pledged that the new, dedicated purpose of S.T.A.R. Labs is to help any meta-human who wants it – and to assist in stopping those who are a danger to others."

"That didn't make us a target?"

"No more than it did before, plus they know we work with the Flash. So the only people who come after us directly are ones looking to take him on."

"That makes me feel much better," she muttered.

"They haven't won yet," he assured her, "and they're not going to. Cisco and I devised an actual security system. You know, as opposed to the complete lack of one that you all had before I came along."

He had a point, there. "And it's effective against meta-humans?"

"Please," he scoffed, "you insult me."

"I'm sorry, sir," she said, mockingly. "I humbly apologize. Wouldn't want to offend a _beloved public figure_."

"I'm going to ignore your tone and take those words at face value, since I deserve that apology."

Yes, that was him, the man she knew no matter the timeline. Funny how his ego would be such a comfort to her. "I'd never doubt your abilities," she said, only semi-joking.

"As you shouldn't," he replied. "Our home has the same security system, by the way. Speaking of which, do you want a tour?"

Her mind had stumbled over 'our home'. How long was it going to take her to get used to hearing things like that?

"You still there?"

She blinked. "Yes, I'd like a tour. I only vaguely remember this place from back when…" She shook off the memories; no point in going there now.

He motioned for her to precede him out of the room. "Out here's the foyer."

She glanced around the over-sized entryway. Now that she wasn't dealing with the shock of learning they lived together, she noticed more details of the room that she'd missed before. Namely the winding staircase in the middle of it and the wide set of black doors beyond. That was the front entrance, she remembered.

"It's a lot of chrome. And glass." She looked up at the skylights that ran along the length of the room. "It's uh…very…"

"I love modernism, don't you?"

"Sure," she lied.

"Save it, we both know you don't."

She was happy she wouldn't have to keep lying about it. "Have you ever heard of –"

"– a color palette. You've asked me that before. And yes, as hard as it is for you to believe, I have indeed heard of a color palette, which you learn about sometime around first grade. To be honest, I don't really care how it looks, but you have free reign to do whatever you want."

She leaned back against the white wall she was standing near. "How have I lived here for a year and not changed anything? You gave me a joking answer before, but I think I need a real one."

"I don't know if it's the same where you're from, but here we tend to get distracted. A lot."

"That sounds like the usual."

"Yup. And you change your mind. All the time. Generally it goes like this: you decide on some style you want a certain room to be, then someone tries to kill all of us, so we have to deal with that, and by the time we catch a break a week later, you want a different style. As such, not much has gotten done since you moved in."

"I don't remember being that indecisive. Although I do tend to put things off…" Her mind drifted to the blackout curtains she'd wanted for months and hadn't even managed to put into her Amazon shopping cart.

"I keep telling you to let me hire someone. But you don't like _that_ idea, either." He sounded put out at her rejection of him paying someone to solve the problem. "I'm half-tempted to paint all the walls lime green while you're at work one day. At least it'd stop the complaints about how much this place lacks color."

"You'd rather that I change my complaints to how awful lime green is?" She caught his smirk. "Annnd you know I hate that color."

"Maybe," he allowed, then motioned toward the twisting staircase. "It's mostly bedrooms upstairs. You're free to go anywhere you want, but we don't use the second floor much. Especially now."

"Why not?"

He heaved a sigh. "Half our team has claimed bedrooms up there. Not my choice, but they're here a lot and you don't like them to 'drive home drunk' or whatever. So Jesse has a room, but so do Barry and…Cisco."

She burst out laughing at how resigned he sounded. "They have actual _rooms_ here?"

"It's not like I sanctioned it," he complained. "Marrying you meant they all came along, too. It was like a package deal." He shook his head, almost sadly. "If only I'd known, I could have ditched you long ago and saved myself the trouble."

"Oh really?"

"But wouldn't you know that I got used to having you around? Which means that now I'm stuck with them, too."

"Sure it's not the other way around? That _they're_ stuck with _you_?"

"That is what they often claim…"

"I'm shocked."

"Trust me, I'm fairly used to them reminding you that you could have married literally anyone else in Central City."

"No," she said, sharply. "I couldn't have." She had no idea where that sudden and vehement denial had come from.

He paused a moment, then said fondly, "Yeah, that's usually your response, too."

She didn't answer him, because she had no idea what to say…other than that it was true. She might feel like falling apart every time she thought about how different her life was here, but she absolutely couldn't do this with anyone else.

She had no idea why she felt that with such certainty, but she did.

"Come on," he said, leading her through the foyer and to the rooms on the other side. Living room #2, apparently (smaller and cozier, but still as colorless). A home workshop/laboratory (she'd have to explore that later). And then –

"This is the library," he said, and for once, there was actual _color_. It came from the books, floor to ceiling shelves of them along three of the four walls. The entire room was designed around a central fireplace – not cold white marble like the room she'd woken up in, but red brick framed with dark wood. There were a few chaises, armchairs, and small tables set up strategically around the room so that more than one person could read or work there and feel like they had privacy even if there were others in the room.

"You don't expect me to ever leave this room, do you?" she asked, running her hand along the spines of the books on the shelf nearest to her. It seemed to be the literary classics section.

"Knew I should have skipped this room," he muttered, but there was affection in his tone. "This was your reaction the first time you saw it, too. There's still a lot more to show you, though, and I figured you might want to actually sleep at some point tonight?"

"I don't hold out much hope for that," she sighed, under her breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." She tore her gaze away from a gold-edged copy of _Pride and Prejudice_. For a brief moment, she saw herself pulling it off the shelf and bringing it over to a sofa near the fireplace. She knew the weight of the book in her hands, how the sofa felt underneath her, and how the flames from the (currently unlit) fireplace warmed her. When she flipped open the novel, on the title page, there was a handwritten inscription –

"Do I have to pry you out of here?" he asked, and suddenly the images were gone.

She tried to ignore her overly vivid imagination (because that was all it was, right?). "Fine, you can keep showing me around, but this is my favorite room so far."

"I'd expect nothing less of Caitlin Snow – no matter when she's from."

He continued to lead her throughout the house, showing her rooms that looked so much the same that they began to blend together in her mind. She remembered some of them from her few other times there, but most were new (if unremarkable).

"This was my office," he said, when they were three rooms down from the library. "Our office, now."

Sure enough, there were two desks set up in the room, and they were facing each other. "We live in a mansion and we share an office?" She sat down at her desk and absently started rummaging through the drawers. "Tell me – and be honest, Harry – how co-dependent are we?"

"Hey, you moved your desk in here. You had plenty of rooms to put it elsewhere, but you didn't want to."

"How come?"

"You said we work better together," he told her. "Though I have reason to suspect that it wasn't about work at all – you just liked it when we spent time with each other."

"What would make you say that?" she asked, lightly.

"You mean aside from how you agreed to live the rest of your life with me?"

She dropped her gaze from his and stared into the open top drawer without really seeing what was in it.

"No matter your reasons," he continued, "you were right. Nothing compares to how well we work together, and it sure beats having to call, text, or shout to each other every time we need help or have a breakthrough, or whatever else. Besides, if we want to work by ourselves, there are plenty of places in this house to do it."

"I'm guessing we don't work alone very often, though?"

"It was definitely rare for us to try and get away from each other." He tilted his head. "But you knew that already. How?"

 _Because if I had the opportunity to not be alone, I would have held onto it for dear life._ She wondered if she'd felt that way before, too. And if so, had she ever told him?

"Just a guess," she murmured, shoving the drawer back in and leaving the room ahead of him. "Come on," she called, "let's get on with the tour."

He rejoined her in the hallway, sending her a curious glance, but moved forward nonetheless. She glossed over the next few rooms – a den (aka boring 'living room #3') an oversized pantry/housekeeping closet, and a home gym. (She wondered how often she made excuses to get out of using it.)

They'd reached the back of the house and he hesitated slightly before the next door. "Remember how I mentioned there were 'other things we need to talk about'?"

There was that freight train roaring in her ears again, her vision dimming and then coming back, like the snap of a rubber band. "What's in there?"

She didn't wait for his response, ducking under his arm and twisting the knob to push the door open. The room was dark and she fumbled for a light switch near the door, flipping it to find: a half-painted mural on the opposite wall comprised of colorful, cartoonish sea creatures. Plush blue wall-to-wall carpeting. A bunch of stuffed animals on top of a white bureau to her right. And spread across most of the room were boxes galore. The largest one, right next to her, had an image of a white crib on it.

She was standing in an unfinished nursery.

"We were trying to have a child," he said, from behind her, and there was something in his tone she couldn't place.

She spun back around, pretty sure she was in shock. "Am I…" She couldn't say it, she didn't know if she could even _think_ it.

"Not as far as I know," he said.

Which was really no answer at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the feedback, it really keeps me going!

 

Caitlin had no idea how long she stood there. Staring at him.

"You're scaring me," he finally ventured, "which I realize might be your intention –"

"You didn't think you could have mentioned this to me at any point?" she interrupted. She was focusing only on him in a desperate effort to avoid looking around the nursery too closely.

"I wanted to tell you," he said. "I tried a few times. I wasn't…sure how to say it."

Since when did he even want more children? She thought Jesse had been his one and only exception. Were things that different here? Was _he_ that different here?

She attempted to keep her voice even (despite the anxiety she could feel simmering just under the surface). "There isn't anything else you need to tell me, is there? Because now's the time." A new possibility hit her with the subtlety of a freight train. "Do we have children already? Somewhere else in this house?"

"What?" He was taken aback. "You mean, like hiding?"

"The house is big enough they could easily do it," she shot back, and she swore she could feel her blood pressure rising at the mere possibility. "Harrison Wells, so help you if a five-year-old comes running in here calling me 'mom', because I swear I'll – I'll –"

"Okay," he said, cutting her off. (Which was good, because she had no idea where she was going with that threat – or rather, lack of one.) "You're still a biochemist, right?" When she gave a sharp nod, he continued, "Then I'm going to assume you have at least a basic working knowledge of biology. Two years ago we hadn't even met – how would we have a five-year-old?"

"I don't know how _anything_ works anymore," she lamented, "since last night I fell asleep alone. And single. With definitely no chance of being –" No. There was no way. ( _But what if you are?_ )

"That has to do with the timeline," Harry was saying. "But once things reset, it wouldn't alter the laws of nature by which the world operates."

Paradoxically, his calm, rational explanations were only making her want to argue more. "How do I know what you've been up to in this timeline?" she snapped. "Maybe you found some orphan and took them in!"

"What do you think this is, _Oliver Twist_? You can't just find kids roaming the streets and take them home."

"Technically, Oliver doesn't live on the street, he lives in a workhouse and then he unwittingly ends up joining a criminal gang that manipulates children to commit crimes for them."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing except that your analogy was slightly –"

"Snow."

"– off."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "My point was that we don't have any children." His voice changed to something more wistful. "Which is not to say that we haven't talked about adoption."

His statement sapped all the annoyance from her. She'd always liked the idea of adopting, and it was reassuring to know she'd talked about it with him. "Is that why we were already decorating this room? Were we in the process of…"

"No, nothing like that," he said. "We've slowly been collecting things for a few months because we figured, why wait? It was never a question of whether or not we'd have a child. We knew we would eventually, no matter what path we took to get there."

 _No matter what path_ … She'd skipped over a very important issue, hadn't she? "Before, you told me that you didn't know if…" she took a breath, "if I'm pregnant."

"You haven't said anything," he clarified. "If you knew, you would have told me."

"What if I didn't know?" She automatically glanced down. She thought she looked the same as she remembered, but who could say for sure? She pulled on the red shirt she was wearing and pressed a hand to her stomach. "How do I look to you? Do I look different?"

"You look the same."

"What do you know?" she dismissed him, ignoring that she'd just asked his opinion. "What if it's early? I might not be able to tell."

"That's true."

"That doesn't help me." Her thoughts were getting more frantic. She'd found the mirror over the bureau and was scrutinizing herself in it. "I'm too young to be a mother."

"You're thirty-years-old," he said, dryly.

"Exactly!" she cried, like he'd made some excellent point. "What would I do with a kid, Harry?" She threw her arms up in question. "I work like 60 hours a week, my life's in danger every other Tuesday, and I don't even have a boyfriend!"

"Well, I certainly hope not," he quipped. After a pause, he added thoughtfully, "You do understand that I'd be the father, right?"

She inwardly cursed herself, realizing how awful that must have sounded to him. "Sorry. Me saying that…it was out of reflex. Of course I know you'd be the father." That didn't seem like enough of an apology. "I always thought you were a wonderful father, actually."

Even though Jesse was pretty much grown and on her own, Harry would still do anything for her…give up anything for her. Caitlin had always admired that about him, that he hadn't become more distant from Jesse after she got older, after he could consider his job 'done'.

Truthfully, it had sometimes hurt, seeing the way Harry treated his daughter (and how Joe treated his kids). She couldn't help comparing it to the coldness of her own mother, who had once accused her of not knowing what it was like to lose a spouse. And even before Ronnie's death, it had never seemed to register with her mother that when she'd lost her husband, Caitlin had lost her father.

She'd thought time might heal things between them; instead, it had only made the distance seem vastly more insurmountable. After so many years of mistreatment, Caitlin had vowed she'd never do the same to her own children, if she…had any.

She studied his face. "So there's definitely a chance I might be…"

"It's possible."

"I need you to define _possible_ ," she ordered. "Like exactly."

He thought for a few moments, silently ticking things off on his fingers before concluding, "A 27 percent possibility."

She could tell he wasn't joking. "How'd you come up with that number?"

"Are you questioning my accuracy?" He seemed slightly insulted. "You should know better."

He couldn't be serious right now. "This time I'm _admitting_ I want to kick you, Harry. But I'm going to refrain. Because I'm a mature adult."

"Ha! So you claim."

" _Harrison_. I'm asking for your method."

"Why didn't you say so?" He was clearly pleased at her request. "It's based on numerous factors. Rates of fertility for people our age, timing of your last cycle, odds of conception during any given month –"

She held up a hand in silent motion for him to stop (and she wasn't even going to think about how disconcerting it was to hear him talk about the subject so matter-of-factly). "You've thought about this pretty thoroughly."

"Conception isn't some magical thing that happens based on the whims of fate," he said. "It's science. Factor in all the known variables needed to produce a desired outcome and you can easily calculate the chance it will occur. That's barring any unknown factors, of course. We haven't had fertility tests done on ourselves, for example. That would bring in a whole new set of variables, like how diet, sleep quality, stress, and other things affect individual fertility rates – and why are you staring at me as if I'm speaking another language?"

Oh no. _Oh no._ She'd gotten completely lost thinking about how attractive he was when he was explaining something – a mix of how knowledgeable he was and his confidence in what he was saying – and then adding in the subject itself on top of that, that he'd wanted to have a child with _her_ … It was doing strange things to her.

What had gotten her on such a train of thought in the first place? Sure, she'd always found him objectively attractive, but her thoughts had never strayed further, to the point of being attracted _to_ him. (Had they?)

He was still waiting for her to speak. "27 percent," she managed, and it came out like a question.

He was watching her closely. "Yes. That's what I said."

The number slowly registered in her mind and she gripped his arm, probably hard enough to bruise, but he didn't flinch. "You're telling me there's a 3 in 10 chance I could be pregnant right now?"

"You're rounding up. 30 in 100 is slightly higher odds than 27 in 100."

She just glared at him.

"Which, I realize, isn't that important of a distinction," he continued, hastily. "To the best of my knowledge, my calculations are accurate."

"27 in 100," she repeated, quietly. It seemed pretty high. (She should be scared, shouldn't she?)

"I know this whole…thing – it's a lot," he said, sounding regretful. "I should have found a better way to tell you."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "Any way would have been a shock."

Once again, her disbelief at the situation wasn't so much about _him_ as it was about the shocking suddenness of it all – it was like someone had fast forwarded her life, hitting play a few years in the future, and she was supposed to jump right back in as if she already knew what was happening. For some reason, though, even if this life and the events of it were foreign to her, _he_ wasn't. His presence had surprised her, definitely, but the more they talked as the night wore on, the more she recognized how plainly he fit here, in the reality they'd had together.

She had always wanted children. She and Ronnie had been young enough that they'd decided to wait, and it was a decision she'd deeply regretted. She knew it wasn't fair to wish they'd had a child together since that was essentially wishing for a child to grow up not knowing how wonderful their father had been…but despite that, she still hated that they'd held off. After he'd died (for the second time), and she'd slowly emerged from her grief, she'd longed for some part of him to keep living in the world.

(And alright, maybe it was partly because having someone else to focus on would have made Ronnie's loss easier on her, which also wasn't fair to put on a child. She knew it was for the best, in the end, she did…but she'd also thought, after he died, that she had missed her chance to have a child with someone she loved – because she honestly didn't think she'd ever love someone again the way she'd loved him. But apparently she _did_ and it was the cruelest trick of the universe that she couldn't remember it.)

She looked over at Harry, wondering how this had happened, and she didn't just mean the possibility of having a child with him. She meant _everything_ so far. How had he changed her life so much – how had he gotten her to _want_ to change her life so much?

"What'd you do to me?" she finally asked, more of a rhetorical question than anything else.

Obviously, he decided to answer her anyway. "Nothing you didn't want me to do."

She bit her lip to stop her smile. "Are you making another joke?"

"Maybe." His tone turned more serious. "But…at what point does something stop being a joke if it's true?"

"I know it's true. I'm not questioning my other self's decisions, I'm only wondering how we got here."

He looked more serious than she'd seen him all night. "We love each other. That's how."

He'd said it as a matter of fact, without any expectation from her, but she didn't miss that he'd used the present tense. There was nothing she could say to that. She couldn't lie and say it back, because although she did care about him, she knew she didn't _love_ him the way she had before in this timeline.

She chose to avoid the subject entirely.

"What's in there?" she asked, nodding toward an open doorway on the other side of the room.

"That's our bedroom," he said, from behind her, right as she reached it.

A strange feeling washed over her as she studied the room where another version of her had slept for at least the past year. It was both familiar and not, like she knew it the way she might 'know' the fictional rooms from sitcoms she'd seen dozens of times, despite never having visited them in person. (In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she realized the entire _house_ gave her that vibe.)

Their bedroom had the typical necessities: king-sized bed (with an orange comforter?), bureaus on the opposite wall with a mirror over them, two nightstands on either side of the bed with –

"Those are my lamps," she said, pointing at the bronze lights, one on each nightstand. They had square, cream lampshades that she'd appreciated mostly for their uniqueness. Up until a few hours ago, those lamps had been situated in her bedroom. And to her right, was that –

"My armoire!" she exclaimed. "I didn't even think that my things would be here."

"Of course they are, you wouldn't let go of _anything_ ," he said, sounding aggrieved, but in an affectionate way (if that were possible). "Every single thing you owned is in some corner of this house. Much of it is relegated to rooms upstairs where I never have to go."

"You don't like my taste?"

"Uh, it's pretty colorful," he said, by way of an answer.

"I thought you said I had free reign to decorate however I wanted?"

"Well," he hedged, "I _say_ a lot of things –"

"I'm going to make this house look like the inside of a rainbow the next time you're not home," she swore. "Every room will be a different color."

"I'd call your bluff, but that'd only encourage you to do it out of spite."

"I still might," she warned. "Though I'm skeptical of your claim – if you hated my taste that much, you wouldn't have allowed some of my things in here." Her tone was almost accusing. "Although they _are_ probably bland enough for you…"

"Yeah, you got me," he said, sarcastically. "I married you to gain access to your thrift store finds."

"Hey!" She pointed at him. "Some of my stuff was from yard sales."

"I'm beginning to think I never paid you enough. Maybe I should have given you a raise at some point."

"This stuff might be 'used' but it's quality," she argued. "It has a history." She ran her fingers over some of the nicks in her antique armoire. "Who knows where these came from? It's not perfect, but what is? It has a real backstory, a real history. It's not some mass-produced piece, the same as the kinds that are in thousands of homes across the country. And _that's_ what makes it priceless."

"Its imperfections make it priceless," he murmured. "You're such a romantic." When she bristled, he added, "That wasn't an insult, Caitlin Snow."

She looked over the room again, thinking of how strange this whole thing was. (Why didn't it feel _stranger_?)

Her eyes stopped on the bed – the footboard and headboard were a dark wood (ebony?) and that odd orange comforter – she _had_ to have gotten it to irritate him.

He'd noticed her interest. "As you can see, it's Halloween in here every day."

"You don't like it?" She tried not to reveal the full extent of her amusement. "I think it's…cheerful."

"It's like sleeping on the _sun_." He stared at it sullenly, like it personally offended him with its existence. "I swear it glows when the lights are out." At her silent question, he explained, "You won a bet."

She'd have to ask him about that later, but as for now, it was getting late and… "I don't think –"

"You don't have to make any excuses. There are a lot of other bedrooms I can sleep in. Or that you can, if you'd rather." His eyes lit up and he yanked the comforter off the bed. "You can take this monstrosity with you." He actually threw it at her and the weight of it caused her to fall backwards into her beloved armoire.

"No thanks," she huffed, tossing it back toward the bed. It fell to the floor far short of making it – it was just too bulky for her to manage a decent throw. "Wouldn't want to deprive you."

"I guess every version of you wants me to suffer," he sighed, resigned.

"I'm not kicking you out of your room, either." She knew she should be the one to go, not him. Even though the room was familiar to her, she couldn't remember anything specific about it aside from talking to him right now. He had memories of it that she didn't – that she never might. It was probably comforting to him in the same way her bedroom was to her.

Unbidden, a sense of longing filled her – her apartment had never been a place she cherished (like her childhood home, back when things were good and her father was alive and every room was filled with laughter), but she'd lived there for a long time. Now she felt homesick for it in a way that surprised her.

"It's your room, too," he was saying, "but I understand what you mean, and I think I have the perfect solution." He motioned for her to follow him.

He led her down another short hallway and stopped in front of a door. "If we keep going, you'll hit the other side of the house – the kitchen's down that way, along with a few more rooms and then it'll loop back around to the living room where we started. This room, however," he opened the door in front of them, "has a lot of your old belongings."

She went inside and he turned the lights on, causing her to stop in stunned silence. He hadn't been kidding. That was her bed, _her_ bed from her apartment. The end tables were hers, too, just with different lights atop them. And her original bureau, which they'd apparently set aside in favor of getting matching ones for their room. In the corner was a bookshelf that had held her favorite books and novels; upon closer inspection, she realized it still did. Next to it was a writing desk, somewhat outdated now since she never used it, even at her apartment, but it matched the light wood grain of the bed and the bureau. It had all been part of a set that she'd gotten as a teenager from 'both' her parents. (It had really been from her father, he'd been the one to take her to pick it out, but her mother's name had been on the card, too.)

She swallowed around the ache in her throat as the memories came back. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how upsetting it would have been to never see any of these things again. The memories attached to them…they meant much more than the value of the furniture itself.

She sat down on the bed, recognizing her mattress, and even the bedding set was the same as when she'd laid down last night – a faux patchwork that was printed onto the comforter instead of stitched. The squares were designed to look like they came from different fabrics – she'd ordered it online, so it wasn't until she'd received it that she'd realized it wasn't real embroidery, but she'd liked the colors (red, green, and gold) enough that she'd kept it. It reminded her of Christmas…a running theme she favored.

"Told you we kept all your stuff," Harry said, and she realized she hadn't spoken in what must have been a minute or two. "We tried to use this bed at first, but I had no room since you tend to sleep…" he was searching for a word, "diagonal?"

She had to laugh at his description. She did toss and turn a lot so she definitely believed that was the reason they'd switched to a larger bed. (Hell, this house probably had a dozen.)

She wondered if she'd ever told him how she'd gotten this bedroom set, and she almost asked, but it was getting late and she was too tired to relate the story to him if he didn't already know.

Maybe she'd ask him tomorrow. Assuming she didn't wake up back in her own timeline. Or they hadn't somehow gotten things fixed by the next afternoon. (Both those possibilities were met with an unexpected twinge of sadness…it might be different, but it really wasn't so bad here.)

"You should get some sleep," he was saying, like he'd read her mind. "If you want to get ready for bed, your things are in the bathroom off our bedroom."

She followed him back to their room and watched as he went over to what looked like a normal wall. He hit something she couldn't see and part of the wall slid back, revealing a bathroom that had been hidden before.

At her curious look, he proudly said one word: "Aesthetic."

Right. She bit her tongue to keep from making an acerbic comment and walked past him into the bathroom. Once inside, she paused – not just because of how huge it was, or the shower that could probably fit a dozen people, or the – "Is that a _jet_ _tub_?"

"It is," he said, nodding. When she just looked back at him, he shrugged. "What's the point of having money if you don't spend it?"

"This bathroom is bigger than my apartment," she muttered. Which was an exaggeration, sure, but only slight. It was such a normal, domestic picture to see regular items around the room – a hairdryer hanging on the wall, shampoos and conditioners in the shower, robes on nearby hooks. Everywhere she turned was evidence that they shared this house. That they shared their lives.

She turned to the double sinks set into white marble counters. Hers was obviously on the left. Surrounding it was every product she remembered owning – cleansers and creams, make-up, moisturizers, and a variety of other toiletries. In contrast, his sink was spotless, not a single thing left on the counters. (Really, was he a robot? Because she was beginning to suspect it more and more.) He saw her switching her gaze between the two sinks, taking in the sharp difference between them.

"The counter isn't a storage area. That's what drawers –"

"– and cabinets are for," she finished. The shock of recognition that she knew what he was going to say had her looking up and meeting his eyes in the mirror. He was watching her in that same, _same_ way that he had been all evening.

She hastily went back to scanning her belongings, skipping over most of them to grab facial cleanser and her toothbrush from the holder. She paused when she held it up, because –

It was yellow and purple and orange, and she'd bought it nine days ago. She'd noticed it while shopping because of the odd mix of colors and her old toothbrush was weirdly uncomfortable to hold, so she'd grabbed it on a whim.

"This is my toothbrush," she said, waving it in his direction, coming narrowly close to hitting him with it.

"Whose else would it be?"

"No, I mean it's _mine_." The other things on the counter she could understand, as it'd make sense she'd buy the same products here that she liked in her timeline, but _this_ specific toothbrush? "I remember buying it last week after work. Monday to be exact."

He thought for a moment. "You went to the drug store before coming home that day," he confirmed.

"Yes, except I brought it home. To my apartment. Not here." She glanced down, reminding herself she was wearing the same pajamas, too. "It's like the clothes I'm wearing. I put these on last night." She looked back up at him. "At home."

"Your taste would be the same," he pointed out. "So I could see you coming across the same things here as you did in your timeline and buying them. Like that hideous toothbrush."

"I guess you're right. It's interesting, though, that our memories of when I bought it line up, down to the day and time. It's like I lived –"

"– the same trip." He took the toothbrush and studied it, like it might give him answers. "It's definitely odd that you would happen to buy the same thing on the same day in such different timelines."

"Implying everything about this isn't odd," she mumbled.

He handed it back to her. "We'll have to mention it tomorrow when we talk to the others. I sent a group text for everyone to meet at S.T.A.R. Labs. I'm going to go call Jesse before I go to bed, too."

She heard the concern in his tone and took a step forward, maybe in some small attempt at trying to reassure him. "I'm sure she's fine. She stays up until all hours, so she would have called you if something was wrong. Or Wally would have."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're right," he allowed, taking his phone from his pocket and tapping it against his other hand. "I'm still going to be the crazy father who calls her in the middle of the night to check in, though."

"She's lucky," Caitlin murmured. (What she wouldn't give to have her father check in on her again, just one more time.)

"I'm the lucky one," he insisted, as they walked back to the room she'd be sleeping in and he scrolled through his favorite contacts to find Jesse's.

Watching him reminded her: "I don't know where my phone went, either." In this house, she wouldn't know where to start looking.

"I'll call it while you get ready for bed," he said. "Maybe we'll get lucky." He headed down the hall that he'd told her would lead back around to the main living room.

She reentered what she now thought of as 'her' room. Thankfully, the doorway to the connecting bathroom was already open so she didn't have to struggle finding some sort of invisible latch (aesthetic be damned). After she washed her face and brushed her teeth, she went back into the bedroom to find he'd already returned. He threw a phone at her that she caught purely out of reflex.

"Thanks for the heads up."

"I have faith in you," he said, somberly, though she didn't miss the glint in his eyes. "It fell between the couch cushions where you were sleeping."

It was the same phone that she remembered, the newest Samsung model she'd gotten only a few months ago. She punched in her code, frowning when it came back as invalid. "Huh."

"0117?"

"Yeah. It doesn't work."

"That's your old one. Your first –"

"– day at S.T.A.R. Labs." She wondered what else her code could be. Her birthday? …His?

"Try 0416."

"Our wedding day?"

"Yes. How'd you –"

"A logical guess since you said we got married in April," she told him, quickly. But truthfully, it was something she'd just _known_ , like her name or her age. She typed in the code and the phone unlocked. "It worked!" She was weirdly excited about it and didn't know why. She read the single notification on the screen and then turned the phone around to show him.

"What?" he asked.

"A missed call from Harry. Complete with a heart emoticon after your name."

"Gee, I hope that's me and not someone else."

"Very funny."

He seemed to be enjoying this way too much. "I didn't put my contact info in your phone – that was all you."

"Apparently I'm much sappier than I realized," she said, swiping the notification away, and noting that her background picture had changed. It was a familiar-looking grove of trees. Well, she was constantly changing it, she must have done it more recently here.

"I think you're about the perfect amount of sappy," he said, holding up his phone to show her…the name Caitlin in his contacts with a heart next to it. "You did that, too."

Oh for… "How do you not make fun of me, all day, every day?"

"Who says I don't?" he smirked.

She laughed, but her mirth faded as reality set in that she'd be going to sleep here. Even though the bed and most of the surroundings were familiar, she couldn't shake the unease that was settling over her.

"Everything's voice-activated, if you want," he said. "Lights, music, white noise, temperature…"

"Really?" That sounded pretty awesome. "Lights off!" They were plunged into darkness.

"Lights on," he said wryly, after a moment. "Maybe wait until I'm gone so I can see where I'm going?"

"Sorry," she said, sheepishly.

He pointed to his left – her right – and said, "I'm a couple doors down if you need me for anything."

She nodded and he went to leave.

"Harry?" she called, as he hit the doorway, and he turned back to face her. "Thank you."

"You never have to thank me for anything," he said, and then he was gone.

And she was alone.

She was used to it at home, but it felt so much different here, in a different room within a house she wasn't used to (…or was she?).

She got into bed, asking for the lights to turn off and for some white noise simulating a fan, then took a moment to marvel that both things happened without her having to move. She went back to her phone, as a form of comfort, and hit the picture gallery icon. She had hundreds stored on this phone – same as in the other timeline. She flipped through the last week's worth and what surprised her was how many of them she recognized. Here was her proof about the same events happening in both timelines, because there was the exact same shot of her and Iris a couple days ago when they'd gone out to lunch. There were also pictures of the waterfront that she'd taken the same day, thinking she might use one of them as a new lock screen, and a couple of some birds she'd managed to capture while walking through the local park.

Not everything was the same, though. There were also recent pictures of things she didn't remember – a photo of Barry and Cisco she didn't recall taking, along with shots of flowers she didn't recognize from anywhere, and a half-dozen snaps of various chemical equations written in a notebook.

She exited the app and pulled up her text messages. Some of the most recent ones were new: she'd apparently been asking Cisco about his thoughts on a new stimulant she was trying to synthesize. There was also an exchange with Barry about when he should next come over to keep painting the mural in the nursery. It stunned her that he was the one who'd been working on that. (He could draw that well? Since _when_?)

There were also texts she remembered, like her last conversation with Iris where they discussed a date she and Barry had gone on a few days before. There were some from Wally, too, where he'd asked for advice on how to surprise Jesse for their one year anniversary – Caitlin found it interesting that she gave him the same advice she had in the other timeline: don't go overboard with a dozen things (like he'd wanted to), but keep it simple with a bouquet of carnations (Jesse's favorite) and dinner at the same restaurant on the pier where they'd had their first date.

She checked the texts with Harry last, needing to work up to reading them. A few hours ago, they'd been limited almost strictly to work and related issues – projects, meetings, problems Barry was facing and if she'd made progress on any of them. Now, though, it was all of that along with more personal things. Random messages asking what she wanted for dinner. Texts she'd sent him venting about her day. Sometimes he'd sent her a heart or smiley face out of nowhere. Sometimes she'd sent the same to him.

The more she read, the more she felt like she was intruding on something deeply personal. Something she didn't have a right to see. It was ridiculous, because the messages were to and from _her_ , even if she didn't remember receiving or sending them. And yet…

She scrolled back far enough to read a message from her to him, sent in October, that read: _No luck this month, I'm right on time._ What got to her, more than the message itself, was the broken heart emoticon she'd tacked onto the end of it. (What had she felt when she'd sent him that? Had she been resigned? Miserable? Had she still been hopeful about the future? Or had she been crying?)

His response was fairly straightforward: _It's okay. We'll talk when I get home._ (The heart on the end of his message wasn't broken.)

What had their conversation been like that night – what could he have possibly said to reassure her? Had he reminded her that they'd find some way to become parents together, eventually?

Had he told her that he'd always love her, no matter what?

She felt her heart constrict as her eyes teared up – it wasn't even _her_ , not really, and yet she still felt the disappointment and the heartbreak. The sense of…loss. For something that had never been hers to want.

She clicked the button to turn the screen off and angrily tossed her phone to the other side of the bed.

Despite how exhausted she felt, it took her an unnaturally long time to fall asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, finally the other characters get to make an appearance! Thanks for the feedback, everyone!

When Caitlin woke up and stretched out in her own bed, she was sure the previous night had been an insane, elaborate dream.

Then she opened her eyes and saw she wasn't in her bedroom.

"So I'm really here," she said to no one. Or herself. Or maybe the universe. "This is really happening."

Last night, part of her had wondered if she might wake up back in her own apartment. Or if she'd suddenly have memories of this life.

Apparently neither was the case.

She got out of bed and paused in the doorway, hearing the faint sounds of running water followed by the clanking of pots and pans; Harry must have been in the kitchen. She deliberately turned right and went to his room – their room. It looked as spotless as the night before; even the bed was made. The bright orange comforter was perfectly spread over the bed, mocking her as a symbol of a life she didn't remember. (Had he even slept there last night?)

Doors to the nursery and the bathroom were on her left, but on the right…yes! Luck was on her side this morning (or at least Harry was) because he'd left the door to a walk-in closet open, probably anticipating she'd go looking for her wardrobe. She went inside, noting that half the room was hers and half was his; she didn't have to look closely to determine which side was which – the color difference was enough.

She scanned through her clothes – she recognized most of her things, but a few items here and there were unfamiliar. She stopped flipping when she spotted a gold top she'd bought a few weeks ago with Iris. Her search became quicker as she moved hangers aside and found other items that she'd definitely bought in the past year.

How were so many of her _new_ clothes the same in a different timeline? From her quick (and by no means exhaustive) count of items she recognized, that meant a half-dozen shopping trips in the past year had been to the same stores. And on each of those trips she'd happened to find and buy the same clothes as she had in her own time? What were the odds of that?

After last night, she hadn't needed any more proof that some things were the same, but here was yet more evidence…

She grabbed a forest green sweater and black pants, some of her most basic make-up items, and then went to the other bathroom off 'her' room to shower and change. By the time she was ready to face the day (and Harry), she was filled with new confidence. They were friends in her time. Nothing about this had to be strange – she'd act normal and he'd do the same (well, as 'normal' as he was capable of) and they'd go to work and figure everything out.

There was nothing to worry about. How many 'impossible' situations had they faced? And there wasn't even anyone in mortal danger this time! It should be a breeze… (Which meant it would probably be a disaster before all was said and done, right?)

She found Harry making breakfast in the kitchen…and what a kitchen it was: oversized with black and white checkerboard tile and backsplash, black marble counters, white cabinets, and black appliances. A functional center island had a sink and stovetop built into it on one side and a handful of bar stools on the other.

Caitlin rarely had the desire to cook, and when she did, she wasn't sure if she was that good, but this kitchen made her want to learn.

"Did I step into a silent movie?" she asked, taking everything in.

"Because there's no color. Yes, I get the joke."

"You would. I mean, you were alive in the silent film era, right?"

He threw something at her and when she caught it, she saw it was a sugar packet.

"You throw things at me a lot," she said, launching it back and he ducked just in time.

"It's to keep you alert. Never know when you'll need those lightning reflexes." He seemed to believe he was imparting some dire wisdom. "Constant vigilance, Snow."

"Yeah, I can see how I'd need that," she said, pausing for emphasis. "Seeing as I live with _you_."

"I take that as an extremely high compliment."

She watched him put some bacon into the frying pan in front of him. "I half-expected to wake up and find out that this, and you, were a dream."

"Well, some might say –"

"You can stop right there," she cut him off. "I have to admit I'm surprised to see you cooking."

"How so?"

"I figured you'd have a staff for that." She walked past him to open the silverware drawer. "You know, maids, chef, personal slave – I mean, assistant."

"Don't be ridiculous," he scoffed. "What do you think I married you for?"

She spun to face him. "And how many times have I stabbed you with an eating utensil?"

"On purpose? Zero." He eyed the fork she was holding. "By accident? Once. It's okay, though, I forgave you."

"I stabbed you?" _What_? The fork slipped from her hands and clattered on the floor.

"In the hand. I only bled a little." He picked up the fork and threw it into one of the three sinks in the kitchen. (Who needed more than one sink, let alone _three_?!)

"I'm sorry that I…stabbed you." She wondered why she felt so much remorse over something she didn't even remember.

"Like I said, it was an accident. I surprised you while you were slightly inebriated." He'd taken a bowl from one of the cupboards. "Besides, you more than made it up to me," he added, with the barest hint of a smirk, as he undid the twist tie on a loaf of bread. "Want some French toast?"

She instantly perked up. "Always, that's my favorite." He already had milk out so she grabbed eggs from the fridge and passed them over to him. "And…you know that's my favorite, don't you?"

"Yup." He cracked one of the eggs into the bowl. "Do you want to talk about last night?"

She knew what he meant by the careful way he'd asked, but she wasn't ready to discuss the possibility that she could be pregnant. She hadn't even managed to come to terms with it on her own yet. "I'd rather set that aside for now," she said. "Let's figure out what's going on with everything else first." (Then they could talk about it – if there was even anything to talk about. Which there probably wasn't.)

"That's fine," he said easily, and she felt slightly guilty. She knew he probably wanted to discuss it, so she was grateful that he was willing to wait until she was ready.

She was desperate for anything to change the subject. The light streaming in from the windows was unusually bright for this early on a November morning. Her gaze slid over to the clock on the stove and she registered the time with a jolt. "10:42? That can't be right!" She reached for her phone to double check, then remembered she'd never grabbed it from the bed. For some reason, she'd assumed it was much earlier.

"That clock's right," he confirmed.

"Why are you hanging around in here making a leisurely breakfast like we have nowhere to be? It's Thursday! I'm late – _we're_ late."

He'd gone over to the coffee maker and was pouring himself a cup. "We've never had a set time to show up."

"Yeah, but I generally make it in before _noon_ , Harry."

"That's true," he conceded, "but you usually don't decide to sleep in, so today's looking more iffy."

"Are you purposely being aggravating this morning?"

He didn't answer her question. "I bet you're going to get in trouble," he said, sipping his coffee (and she suspected it was to hide his smile). "Maybe you'll get fired."

She leveled a glare at him. "I could only hope."

"I'm sure your boss is understanding."

"I don't know," she said, brushing by him to get her own coffee, then wondered if it was a good idea. "He can be notoriously hard to get along with."

"I'll put in a good word with him," he promised, then noticed her hesitation. "It's decaf."

She glanced at him, but didn't comment as she poured a cup and then added enough sugar to put herself into a diabetic coma (she figured she'd earned it if she had to go without caffeine). "Why didn't you wake me?"

"I learned not to do that a long time ago." He'd moved back over to the stove. "Plus, I figured you could use the sleep. You were up late."

"Yeah, no kidding." She neglected to mention the miserable state she'd been in after going through the pictures and texts on her phone.

"You know, some days we don't go to work at all."

She was amazed. "Did we lose all sense of a work ethic when we got together?"

"That 60-hours a week thing you mentioned last night? You haven't done that in a long time. Not unless it's out of necessity, like trying to prevent our deaths."

Yeah, that probably counted as a necessity. But then again, so did finding herself in a different timeline. "We're going in today," she said, firmly, then remembered what he'd said before going to bed. "How was Jesse?"

"Annoyed that I called her at 1 am. She's fine, though, and so is Wally." He tapped his phone where it was sitting on the counter. "No one else has bothered me today, so I assume everything's fine with them."

"I hope that's the case," she agreed, leaving the kitchen to retrieve her phone, wanting to make sure no one had tried to get in touch with her either.

When she dug it out of the covers on her bed, she was relieved to find she had no missed calls or texts. Maybe he was right and no one else was that affected by whatever had happened.

She returned to the kitchen, stopping in the doorway to observe him as he finished making the toast. It was interesting to watch him cook and she wasn't sure why, except maybe it made him seem human in a way she rarely got to witness before. She was used to him being serious and stern, perhaps feeling it was a requirement if he was in charge of things. He rarely let himself show much emotion outside of his interactions with Jesse and she felt a sudden pang at that thought. In her own time, had he deliberately been keeping himself distant from them on purpose?

Had he gone home at night and felt as alone as she did?

As she crossed the kitchen, she was surprised to see him try a piece of bacon. "Why are you eating that?" she asked. "You hate it."

"I'm seeing if it's done enough." His gaze was much more scrutinizing than it had been last night, eyes following her around the room as she grabbed some plates from the cabinet next to the fridge and then came back to the island. "How did you know I don't like it?"

Huh. When _had_ he told her that? He must have at some point…right? "I guess you mentioned it."

"We talk about breakfast food a lot?"

"Why do I feel like this is an interrogation?" She took down a glass and filled it with water from the fridge dispenser.

"Caitlin."

"What?" She slid onto the bar stool across the island from him.

"You just gathered everything to eat without asking me where anything was."

Her first instinct was denial, even though the proof was literally between them – the dishes and utensils and glass of water. "No, I…"

"You got plates and a glass from the correct cupboards. You got forks from the right drawer." He pointed to the fridge with a spatula. "A few minutes ago you didn't even search for where the eggs might be."

"They're always on the right, third shelf down." She stared at the carton that he'd opened. She'd never had a 'designated spot' for eggs (it was an absurd concept, actually) which meant it had to be something _he_ did.

He must have seen her trying to figure it out. "You put them any place you see room and I always put them back where they belong." He turned and motioned behind him, the gesture reminding her of a game show host revealing the grand prize kitchen she'd won. "As you can see, there are dozens of cabinets and drawers to choose from. I don't know about you, but even when I'm looking for something in the kitchen of a person I frequently visit, it takes me opening every cabinet to find it."

"I never know where things are at Joe's or Barry's," she said, slowly, as she looked over the plates and silverware. The world was starting to blur in front of her so she glanced back up to where he was in focus.

"I think you know things of which you aren't consciously aware."

"Do you think I might start getting actual memories of being here?" She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Would it be like experiencing dreams of a life she'd never lived? Or would they be real in the way her other memories were?

"I don't know," he admitted, and it clearly bothered him that he couldn't give her a better answer. "I guess anything's possible."

He set a plate of toast in front of her and the bacon (which she now realized was for her), then took a piece of toast for himself and brought his coffee over to sit next to her. They ate in silence; she didn't know what he was thinking, but she couldn't stop mulling over the fact that these two worlds could be drastically different in such a major way, and yet so much the same in other aspects. Which reminded her…

"Harry, I think we were right last night – there has to be some crossover between the timelines." She held her phone out to show him photos of her and Iris, the park, and a few others. "These are the _exact_ same pictures I took before."

He took the phone from her and started scrolling through pictures, occasionally remarking that he remembered a certain day or event. She enjoyed the commentary as it gave her some insight into her life here, but after a few minutes he stopped talking. He wasn't scanning any further, either, so she leaned over to see what had gotten his attention. It was a picture of the two of them smiling. The background looked to be the water, and they were seated at a table on a deck or veranda, maybe a restaurant on the pier? They were wearing casual summer clothing and the sun was on the verge of setting. Harry was the one taking the picture with her phone; she could tell because his other arm was between them and she had both her hands clasped around his.

What could she say to him? That she wished she remembered that day? That she wished this wasn't happening to them? She settled for, "It looks like we had a good day."

He snapped his eyes over to her, not realizing she'd been studying the picture along with him. "We did," he said, handing her phone back. "We've had a lot of good days."

She steeled herself for something she'd been trying to figure out how to ask since she woke up that morning. "Harry, are you…okay?"

"I'm fine." His words sounded sincere, but he'd turned away from her to take his plate over to the dishwasher. She couldn't ignore the faintest suspicion that he'd done it on purpose (so she wouldn't see that he wasn't fine at all).

"It's just…last night we focused so much on me," she said, passing her plate over to him, "and we didn't get a chance to talk about you. I know this has to be…terrible for you. You can talk to me. Tell me if –"

"Everything's fine," he insisted, more sternly. Again, he was conveniently facing away from her as he grabbed some keys from a hook on the wall. "We should go. I already told everyone to come by at noon and we're cutting it close."

"Right," she murmured, looking around the kitchen one last time before following him out.

**XXXXXX**

On the drive to S.T.A.R. Labs, Caitlin again considered urging him to talk since he couldn't avoid her, but ultimately decided against it. She didn't want to upset him right before they got to work and had to tell everyone that…she wasn't who they remembered.

And that brought up a whole new set of problems that left her drowning in anxious thoughts. The worst was wondering how everyone would react upon learning what had happened. What if they didn't believe her and Harry's timeline theory? What if they thought something else was going on – what if they didn't trust her? What if they _did_ believe the timeline had changed, but were so focused on getting the _other_ version of her back that they didn't care that doing so might essentially…erase her?

She shivered at that last thought and turned to another matter: she was trying to keep a careful watch during the drive. It was a longer commute from Harry's house than her apartment, which was in the city itself, so she couldn't be entirely sure of landmarks, but as they got closer and he turned onto the road where their routes merged, she paid more attention. The notable buildings and stores looked the same. The major apartment complexes she had to pass by, the little corner market and dry cleaners near her building that she frequented, the regional post office in what had once been an abandoned milk factory. The park that she loved to take walks in when the city got to be too much and she longed to reconnect with nature, even if for only a half hour. The police precinct nearest to S.T.A.R. Labs that was badly in need of – wait, it was completely renovated.

"That police station's been redone," she commented, as they waited at a red light and she took the opportunity to study it. The exterior had a fresh coat of paint and there was an area off to the side that had benches and picnic tables. A fleet of shiny police cars were lined up facing the street.

"We had a fundraiser for them at the end of the summer," Harry told her.

"We?"

"S.T.A.R. Labs. Part of our community outreach program where we strengthen our ties with the city. We threw a policeman's charity ball and raised so much money that they not only redid precincts around the city, but they're building a new drug rehabilitation center early next year."

"We do things like that?" She couldn't deny she was impressed.

He looked at her sideways. "It was your idea. What better way to prove to citizens we're trying to make up for our past than by actually getting involved in community affairs, instead of writing a few checks here and there?"

"It _is_ a good idea," she agreed, as they turned into the parking lot of S.T.A.R. Labs. "So I guess it's not surprising that I thought of it."

He laughed at that. "Jesse's in charge of outreach now, so you can go to her for a full list of events we have coming up. You could have run it, but you thought it would take too much time away from the bio-engineering work you deemed more important."

Yeah, that sounded like her, too.

He pulled the car into one of the spots near the main door. As she stared at the building through the windshield, reality came crashing back down on her. She had to go in there and face her friends – or the people she thought were her friends. (Forget about _her_ being different – what if _they_ weren't the same as she remembered?)

"Aside from the past couple minutes, you were unusually quiet the whole way here," Harry remarked.

She was drawing meaningless patterns on the inside of the window. "I can't help thinking…" she sighed, "what if our relationship isn't the only thing that's changed?"

"You're talking about the others."

"I know they look the same, at least. We both know that doesn't mean anything, though." She recalled their wedding photo, and when that hurt too much, she thought of the happy photos she had stored in her phone. ( _Of things she actually remembered_.)

"What do you worry might be different? Their personalities?"

"Yes," she murmured, drawing a heart. "That and…what if they're different towards me?" And not necessarily because they were different in this timeline, either, but after they found out she wasn't who she should be…

She got out of the car and studied the building in front of her. S.T.A.R. Labs looked exactly the same as it had the day before when she'd gone to work. Same concrete exterior, same parking lot, and same cars (she recognized Cisco's and Wally's at the moment).

Harry had gotten out, too, but instead of looking at the building like she was, he was watching her. "They love you. They're going to be the same as you remember and they're not going to treat you any differently."

She appreciated that he was trying to make her feel better, but… "You don't know that."

He put his hands on the hood of his car and leaned forward a little. "Yes, I do."

"No, you don't."

He hit the hood lightly in frustration. "Could you stop arguing with me?"

"Does asking me that ever work?"

"No," he sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I thought it was worth a shot, that maybe it'd have more of an effect now."

She clutched the strap of her shoulder bag a little tighter and sent him a scolding look. "I'm not _that_ different."

He came around the car and leaned against it. "I promise you, neither are they. Look at it from another perspective – if it wasn't you going through this, but Iris or Cisco or Barry, would that change how you treated them? Or how you feel about them?"

"Of course not," she said, sharply.

"Then maybe give our friends some credit before convincing yourself they're going to immediately treat you like an outcast."

"Well," she scuffed her foot against the pavement, chagrined, "if you're going to be all logical about it… I suppose you have a point." She couldn't entirely let her fears go, though. "You have to admit there's at least a _chance_ that they could be different from how I knew them."

"I'm not contesting that," he told her, "although I find it extremely unlikely. But Snow, even on the slightest chance that any of them _are_ different from the people you knew before, you still have me." He waited for her to meet his eyes. "You'll always have me."

And that, she knew, was the same as in her own timeline.

**XXXXXX**

The familiar, winding halls of S.T.A.R. Labs led to the main room, the cortex, where they spent most of their time. The only minor change in there was a couch and some chairs against one of the walls that looked far more comfortable than the desk where she usually spent most of her time.

Cisco was sitting at his computer and he glanced up when they walked in.

"Well, well, _Wells-es.._." Cisco over-exaggerated the plural of their last name, then laughed to himself over his pun. (And left Caitlin wondering if she had, indeed, changed her name.)

"That one never gets old, Ramon." Harry dropped his bag on the desk and typed something on the keyboard.

"Hi, Cisco!" Caitlin's greeting was overly loud and much too cheerful, which she only realized when he sent her a confused look. (Or did he already know she wasn't the same? Could he somehow _tell_?)

"Hi…" he said, slowly, then glanced at Harry. "It's good of you two to come in before lunchtime today. Meanwhile, Wally and I have been here for hours, slaving away –"

"I can see that you used your code to enter the building at 11:37." Harry made a point to check his watch. "Eighteen minutes ago."

Cisco muttered a curse under his breath and Caitlin caught the words 'damn' and 'forgot'. He recovered quickly, leaning back in his chair far enough that she mentally prepared herself for it to tip over.

"I meant to tell you guys," Cisco continued, "there's some kind of glitch with the passcode system. It's not registering times correctly –"

Harry swiveled the monitor he was looking at so Cisco could see footage of himself punching in his code while the timestamp in the upper corner read 11:37.

Cisco snapped his fingers. "Right! The surveillance systems have been acting up, too."

"They have?" Wally asked, as he came into the cortex, wiping some grease off his hands with a rag. "No one told me."

"Wally, what have we said about timing?" Cisco hissed, then turned back to Harry. "Why do you have to monitor everything? It's very…big brother." His voice had taken on a slightly whining tone. "I feel like I don't have any freedom anymore."

"Cisco, for the hundredth time, I normally don't care what you do, but I called you this morning and asked you to come in because I couldn't make it until noon and we have to finish those proposals due to the planning committee by the end of the day. You said you'd be here."

"In my defense, I said that before I hung up and fell back to sleep," Cisco said, as Harry shut his eyes briefly. "Also, I finished those proposals last night."

Harry seemed to be holding onto his patience by the thinnest of threads. "Then why didn't you tell me that?"

Cisco winced. "Uh…I guess I forgot. I wasn't thinking straight this morning." He sent a wide grin to Caitlin and Wally. "I had _the_ wildest night, I'm seeing this girl who –"

"Cisco!" Harry snapped.

The younger man jumped, causing his chair to snap back upright. "Sorry," he said, at last sounding sincere. "However, before I passed out I texted Wally and asked him to cover for me in case anything happened this morning…which I'm now realizing I _also_ forgot to mention to you."

Wally waved at them. "Yes, that's me. I was here, holding down the fort. Not that there was much to hold down."

"As long as it's covered, why bother telling me, right?" Harry asked, annoyed, then gathered himself. "Never mind, forget it. The others should be here soon, so we'll have our meeting once they arrive." When no one moved, he added, "Why are you standing around? Go back to doing whatever passes for work nowadays."

Cisco and Wally exchanged a quick 'what-the-hell's-wrong-with-him?' look before Wally took off and Cisco went back to his computer.

Caitlin hadn't contributed much for two reasons – first she didn't know what they were talking about with proposals and planning committees. Second, she'd been watching Wally and Cisco closely to see if they were how she remembered them (and they were), but what ended up fascinating her was how Harry was acting.

He was… _him_.

She didn't know how else to describe it except that if she'd completely forgotten the previous night, she would have thought she was back in her own time. He wasn't the same as he'd been last night or this morning. He was serious, strict, exasperated and…

She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this side of him until she saw the change in front of her eyes.

She tilted her head, motioning for him to meet her close to the exam room to try and keep their conversation from being overheard.

"What? Is something different?" He was worried already. "With Wally or Ramon?"

"Not them," she said, nearly giddy from excitement. " _You_."

He gestured for her to go on, not understanding what she meant.

"This is how I remember you," she said, unable to keep the delight out of her voice.

"What?"

"This. You." She waved her hand up and down. "How you talked to them. Back at your house, you were much more lighthearted and joking around a lot. But this, this…severity is much closer to how I knew you."

"I'm annoyed with Cisco," he said, "and I probably overreacted. I swear he does these kinds of things on purpose to aggravate me." He looked troubled. "I should probably apologize and –"

"No, it was great! It really helped, I think." She studied him, able to see much more clearly that he wasn't a new iteration of Harrison Wells, he was _her_ Harrison Wells. Just…lighter. (She'd known that, had told herself that many times, but it was too easy to separate them in her mind – to see them as two distinct people, which obviously wasn't the case.)

"It helped you to see me…annoyed?"

"Yes, now you're getting it." She nodded vigorously. "Maybe try to channel that attitude more, I find it immensely reassuring."

He was appalled. "How _awful_ was I in your time?"

"You weren't awful, you were…harsher," she said, quickly, worried that he was taking it the wrong way. "Uh, more critical? Uncompromising, at times. A lot of times…"

"You're painting quite the picture of me."

She sifted through her most recent memories from work, trying to think of a way to describe him that he wouldn't continue taking offense at. "Your default mode is sarcastic and kind of detached – you never let anyone in, except Jesse. But you can still make light of things if you want. I think you've softened a bit over the past year."

"Yeah, sounds like it."

"I'm not saying any of that is a bad thing, Harry. It's just that most of the time, you're more serious than the rest of us. It doesn't mean you don't love us – we know you do – we're used to…the way you are."

She'd expected him to be pleased that she'd found some new aspect of him she could relate to, that he might laugh about how it was in such an unlikely way, but as Caitlin watched his face, she knew she'd made a mistake. He'd gone beyond troubled; now he was upset.

"What you're trying to say, in so many words, is that I was a miserable person. Unpleasant. Or maybe just unkind?" He turned and walked away from her before she could reply (and that was startling because he hadn't walked away from her _once_ so far).

She felt her heart sink. Offending him had been the last of her intentions. She'd thought he'd view it the same way she did – as a good thing.

She went after him, reaching him when he stopped at the desk next to Cisco. "Harry, what you're thinking, that's not what I meant. I wasn't trying to insult you."

"Please." He stared at her, expression unreadable. "You just told me you wanted me to be meaner to you."

Cisco was watching them with disapproval. "Seriously, could you two keep your fetishes at home? This is the kind of thing that makes me want to stay in bed."

Harry turned to him. "What?"

"That came out sort-of wrong," Cisco backpedaled. "Or really wrong. I meant that it makes me not want to be here." He looked desperately around for help that wasn't coming. "I'm going to the kitchen." He booked it out of the room, leaving his chair spinning furiously in his wake, and Harry grabbed the back of it with a huff of frustration.

"I don't want you to be mean, that's not what I said," Caitlin told him, quietly. "I was overexcited about seeing you so clearly the way I remember you."

"I'm like that all the time? And you prefer that? Him." It seemed like it was hard for him to get the words out. "The other me."

Caitlin hated that it had taken her this long to understand the real problem. He wasn't insulted – he was _hurt_. Because of something she'd said (and inexplicably, that made her want to cry).

"No, Harry." She tried to push her emotions aside. "This is more proof to me that there _is_ no other you. You're _you_ , Harry. There are just different sides to you. And how you were a few minutes ago…that's the side I usually saw. I never got much of a chance to see you the way you are at home. At least, not more than a few glimpses here and there." She felt compelled to add, "I like the way you are. _All_ the ways you are."

"You do?" He was still suspicious, but some of the hurt had cleared from his expression.

"It's like things don't bother you as much here, in this time. Or you're more at peace with the world?" She sighed, wearily. "It's hard to explain."

He seemed to collect his thoughts before speaking again. "I wasn't married to you before."

"That's why you're…" she spread her arms out, "…lighter?"

"I think the word you're looking for is 'happier'."

She heard the unspoken ' _because of you'_ on the end of his sentence and her eyes widened slightly in recognition. She knew he was holding himself back, that he was trying his best not to say or do anything to make her uncomfortable, and it made her wonder how much else he was hiding under the surface.

"You said I'm more closed-off in your world?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How am I with you?"

Her knee-jerk reaction was to say that he was as reserved with her as he was with everyone else, but…it wasn't true. When she was with the others, she was part of the group, and he generally treated her as such. When they were alone, which was rarer, he was more…easygoing. More relaxed, almost, and definitely more open. He also smiled more, and never seemed to be as critical as when he worked with the others – she'd always attributed it to how compatible their working styles were, and that she didn't annoy him the way Barry and Cisco did with their mere existence. Those were probably some of the reasons, but were they the only ones?

Had he been right last night when he'd guessed that he'd had feelings for her in her own timeline?

He must have read it on her face, since he didn't wait for her to answer him. "I was different with you, wasn't I?"

"I…don't know."

"Yes," he said, simply, "you do."

She didn't have to think of a reply to that because Joe, Iris, and Jesse arrived one right after the other. A few moments later, Cisco and Wally returned, as well.

Harry checked the time. "It figures that the one with super speed would be the last one here."

Barry arrived the next moment in a flashing whirlwind that had Caitlin smiling at the familiarity of it. "Sorry guys, I lost track of time. We've been stuck working some cold cases, though I guess it's better than having to work new ones."

"Not to rush things," Joe told Harry, "but I have a lot on my plate today, so why'd you want us here?"

"We have a problem with the timeline," Harry announced, getting right to the point. "At least that's our working theory. Caitlin and I think it changed last night."

Almost as one entity, everyone in the room turned to face Barry Allen.

"Oh come on," Barry complained. "Why does everyone always blame me?"

"Why do you think, Allen?" Harry asked, sarcastically.

"Okay, fine," he grudgingly conceded, "I've been the cause in the past, but not this time." When he was still met with skepticism, he added, "Iris can vouch for me, we were together the whole night."

"That's true," she said, nodding. "He didn't leave."

"Besides, I'd remember, wouldn't I?" Barry pointed out. "I remembered the other times. I'm not the only speedster in this room, either."

All eyes shifted to Wally and Jesse who both instantly said they had no idea what was going on and they'd been together all night, as well, with neither of them noticing (or remembering) any changes.

"I'm almost scared to ask what's changed," Joe began, tentatively, "because I think my life's going pretty well at the moment and I'm hoping you don't tell me that in this other timeline I was dead or something."

Joe had directed those words at Harry and Caitlin realized they had no idea it was her who'd experienced the change. She was still worried about telling them, too. She glanced over at Harry who nodded slightly, letting her know it was okay.

"It's me," she said, hating how shaky her voice sounded. "I'm the one who remembers the other timeline. As far as I know, I'm not the one who caused it to change."

"What happened?" Iris asked, gently.

"I woke up and things were…different." She didn't elaborate on that – they didn't need to know every minor detail of the previous night. "From what I can tell, most things are the same. There are two major differences, though. The first is that in my original timeline, you and Barry have only been together for a year."

"What?" Barry was horrified. "You mean I missed out on almost two whole _years_ of being with Iris?"

"Bar…" Joe began, but Barry was no longer listening to them.

"Think of the time we missed," Barry told Iris, taking her hands and getting progressively more emotional as he spoke. "All the dates, all the love, all the laughter…"

Cisco was watching him with dismay. "Are you gonna cry?"

"Sweetie," Iris was trying not to laugh and kissed him briefly, "it's okay. Either way, we got together. Besides, we're not in that other timeline."

"But we're supposed to be." Barry was still distressed. "I mean, that's the plan, right? You guys must want me to –"

A loud chorus of everyone shouting "No!" interrupted him.

"Our first priority is to determine what happened," Harry said, firmly. "If I catch you even _thinking_ of going back in time I'll…" he seemed to be searching for an appropriate threat, "I'll sic Iris on you."

"Message received," Barry said, relieved at not having to bear that burden yet again. He squeezed his girlfriend's hand. "I wouldn't want to give up those two extra years we've had together."

"Believe it or not, Allen," Harry said, voice tight, "there are more pressing matters than the length of your relationship with Iris."

Caitlin was watching him worriedly, and out of everyone else, Cisco was the lone person to pick up on the annoyance in the older man's tone (somehow distinguishing it from Harry's _usual_ level of annoyance). "What's going on?"

"It's…" Harry looked over at Caitlin, silently asking if she wanted to continue.

She knew she had to; she was the one best able to describe it since she was the one going through it. That didn't make it any easier, though. ( _What if they saw her as taking the place of_ their _Caitlin?_ )

"In my timeline," she studiously avoided meeting anyone's eyes directly, "I'm not… Harry and I aren't…"

"Married?" Cisco supplied.

She shook her head once.

"That's not such a big deal," Wally told them.

"Yeah, you hadn't gotten there yet," Iris said, smiling up at Barry as he put his arm around her shoulders.

"Does this mean we get to redo the wedding?" Cisco asked excitedly. When the others looked at him, he added, a bit more subdued, "I had a lot of fun helping to plan it…"

"You don't understand," Caitlin said, finding herself looking over at Harry. His arms were folded and he was staring intently at the floor. "We're not married, or engaged. We're not dating, either."

"Huh?" Cisco asked, rather ineloquently.

"In her time, we're not together in any way," Harry said, brusquely. "I remember things here, with us together, but Caitlin doesn't."

Cisco glanced between them, starting to smile, and pointed up at the cameras. "You're recording this, right? It's a stupid attempt at a joke and –"

"Cisco." Caitlin's voice was low in warning. The only reason she spoke was because she saw the look on Harry's face and knew he was about to say something he'd regret. "It's not a joke. The world is different than it was yesterday. I don't know how or why."

Silence descended as everyone in the room took in what she'd said. All traces of humor disappeared as they thought about what it meant, not only for Harry and Caitlin, but their team as a whole.

"We'll fix it, right?" Joe seemed like he wanted confirmation from the others. "We'll figure out what happened and undo it. Or whatever we have to do."

"What if we can't?" Jesse asked, sounding almost scared. "What if there's no fixing it… What then?"

Caitlin wrapped her arms around herself – that was the first time someone had said out loud that there might not be anything they could do. She'd known that, of course; she'd simply been choosing not to think about it.

What _would_ they do? And what did 'fixing' it even look like? Was it returning the world to her own timeline? Or was it staying here with her memories somehow restored? (Did she even want them back if it might overwrite who she was right now?)

When it became clear Caitlin couldn't (or wouldn't) answer his daughter, Harry carefully said, "We'll cross that bridge if we come to it."

Caitlin wondered what would happen if they got to that bridge…and she refused to cross it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks so much for the encouragement!

 

If there was one thing Caitlin could always count on, it was this team distracting her when she needed it most. Everyone started talking over each other, throwing around ideas about what might have happened and questioning her on what she knew about the change. She provided answers as best she could, relating everything she thought was relevant: what it was like in her own timeline, the fact that some of her memories exactly aligned with this 'new' timeline, and that she also knew things she shouldn't have known.

Like where everything was in their kitchen.

Or that when Harry avoided looking at her, it was because he didn't want her to see too much.

Barry decided it was necessary to illustrate their situation. "Let me just get rid of all this," he told them, starting to erase what was written on one of the transparent, dry-erase boards.

"Barry!" Cisco cried. "I wasn't done with any of that!"

Barry froze, leaving parts of a few equations visible. "Uh, sorry. Look, some of it's still here: X=2r…or is that an n? No, I think it's a z…" He tilted his head, like that might make it more intelligible. "Your handwriting's awful."

"I spent hours on that," Cisco complained.

"Ramon, you wrote it in a half hour last night," Harry reminded him.

"The _point_ ," Cisco said coolly, sending Harry a quelling look, "is that I was having a real breakthrough." If Caitlin weren't mistaken, his voice became a bit forlorn. "I was in some kind of zone, I don't know how long it'll take me to redo it."

"If you stop whining, I'll rewrite it for you," Harry offered, taking a yellow legal pad and sitting down in one of the new – in Caitlin's eyes – armchairs to make good on his promise. The chairs, along with the couch, were situated in a sort-of U-shape so that they faced most of the room.

"I suppose that's acceptable," Cisco said, face lightening somewhat in relief. "You can carry on, Barry."

While Barry finished erasing, Caitlin watched over Harry's shoulder as he wrote, not surprised that he remembered what Cisco had been working on and could easily recreate it.

She didn't actually care about Cisco's project, though, and she ran her hand over the cool leather of the chair. "When did we get this furniture?"

Harry glanced up, slightly surprised at her question. "You wanted something 'more comfortable' in here. They've actually served a purpose, though I have to admit, I was against redecorating at first."

Only he would consider buying some furniture as 'redecorating'. "Noooo, really? _You_ were against change?" She purposely exaggerated the words, gratified when she saw that he was trying not to smile. "I don't believe it."

"Thankfully, I talked you out of the red leather."

"Ooh, red!" Her eyes lit up at the idea as she considered the mostly drab room. "That would have really spiced –"

"No," he interrupted.

Jesse had overheard their conversation. "Black is much more professional," she said, overly mocking, which told Caitlin she was repeating something she'd heard her father say. Probably numerous times.

"And we're nothing if not professional!" Cisco cheered, sending them a fake salute before throwing himself down on the couch next to them. "It was a fantastic idea, Caitlin. I particularly enjoy taking naps here. It makes work much more enjoyable, especially whenever I want to tune Harry out."

The older man glared at him over the top of the notepad. "Don't tempt me to do this math wrong. I could ensure it takes a while for you to find the mistakes."

"You know this is my usual playful nature, Harry," Cisco tried to appease him. "I love it when you go on and on and _on_ about fascinating subjects like…the geological differences between Earth-2 and here."

"It speaks to the possible different historical events the planets have gone through!" Harry exclaimed. "Don't you find that compelling?"

"Your Earth is different?" Caitlin was newly intrigued since it wasn't something she recalled him mentioning before. "How?"

"For one example, there are six Great Lakes, not five." He drew a quick sketch of the U.S.-Canadian border at the top of the notepad, and then added the six lakes so she could see what he was talking about. "This is Lake Pennsylvania," he said, resting the pen on the new, southernmost lake.

Caitlin leaned against the edge of his chair to try and see better, failing to notice she was slowly sliding until he shot a hand out and grabbed her arm before she could fall. "Right, so these chairs are as slippery as I thought," she coughed, trying to hide her embarrassment.

He sent her an amused look, but otherwise made no comment.

"Believe me, Caitlin," Cisco spoke up, "the lake thing is about as interesting as his facts get – most of the others are equally dull."

Not only did she _not_ find that fact dull in the least, she also felt a strong urge to defend Harry from Cisco's complaints. "I think it's fascinating," she insisted.

"You always did," Cisco groaned.

"It _is_ fascinating," Harry told Caitlin, his statement somehow implying that anyone who thought otherwise was an idiot. "Thank you, Snow. Want to hear about the differences in the U.S. mountain ranges?"

"Someone get me some Ambien," Cisco called out, to the room in general.

"Let's hold off on the geographical…fun facts," Barry suggested. He'd been talking to Iris and had finally pulled himself away long enough to get back to his earlier purpose. "If you'll turn your attention over here?" He gestured to the dry-erase board where he'd drawn a long, horizontal red line.

"Congratulations, Barry," Cisco told him. "You might pass kindergarten with those skills."

"He _does_ have a lot of experience with these kinds of diagrams," Wally pointed out.

"Ha ha," Barry said, refusing to be baited. "Now this line is the original timeline, but we don't know when the change occurred, so I'll put a question mark at the beginning of it." He also drew an 'O' at the end of it, presumably to indicate it was the original line.

"We branched off somewhere a while ago," Iris said, "since we've been together for almost three years, as opposed to one in the other timeline."

"Right," Barry said, writing 'c. 2015' at the beginning, and then picked up a green marker to draw a new branch from the starting point at a wide angle. He paused to reconsider, erased it, and redrew the branch so that it ran parallel to the original line. He also labeled it 'C+H'. (Caitlin realized with a jolt that the letters stood for her and Harry – really, he couldn't have labeled it 'new'?)

"Remember that some things are the same," Cisco told him.

Barry nodded, drawing slashes to connect the two lines. "Each slash can be a crossover event – something that happened the same in both timelines. Just don't ask me how. Or why."

"Rest assured, no one's asking _you_ , Allen," Harry said, dryly.

"Looks like railroad tracks," Jesse said, studying Barry's diagram as if it might provide answers that no one currently had.

Barry capped the green marker and picked up a purple one, drawing a half-dozen circles around the question mark at his starting point. "The origin – what happened here to split us off onto an alternate timeline?"

Harry tapped his pen on the notepad in thought. "If we can figure out what caused it, that might lead to every other answer."

"Some things always stay the same when the timeline changes," Cisco said, more to himself than anyone else. "Caitlin's examples are far more specific than I've ever heard, though – I mean down to the same texts with us? The same pictures of the _same_ outings?"

"They're much more specific than they should be," Harry agreed. "Or at least, that we've seen before."

"She also knows things she can't explain, like where everything is in your kitchen…" Cisco stared off in thought for a moment, before turning his gaze to Caitlin. "It's making me think you _do_ have memories of living this timeline, but for some reason they didn't 'catch up' with you, for lack of a better term. Perhaps you can't consciously access them?"

Harry continued the line of thought (which was based on the same idea he'd had earlier that morning): "So instead of leaving her with a blank slate, which is what would have happened without the new memories, her old memories were left intact?"

Joe was glancing between them, following along as best he could. "It makes as much sense to me as anything else that's happened to us in the past few years."

"Which is to say, none at all," Wally joked in a stage whisper.

Caitlin thought about their tentative theory. "You don't think she's gone, then?" she asked, equal parts worried and relieved. "The 'me' that you knew before?"

Harry was shaking his head as she spoke. "No. It's convenient for clarification purposes to speak of ourselves that way, as two different versions…but remember when you told me a few minutes ago that you don't think there are different versions of me? I don't think there are two different versions of _you_. I think the timeline changed for everyone instantly, but for some reason your memories didn't change while ours did. I think you lived both times, like us, but the other timeline wasn't erased from your mind like it should have been and it's affecting your ability to recall memories of living this new timeline."

 _What if I'm never the way I was before?_ Caitlin wanted to ask, but didn't. (She wasn't sure she'd like the answer.)

"How is any of that even possible?" Joe was speaking for pretty much everyone.

"How is _anything_ we've lived possible?" Harry pointed out. "I stopped worrying about the philosophical implications of it when I realized my place was on a different Earth than the one where I was born."

"Because it was too complicated?" Iris asked, curiously.

"Because it didn't matter anymore," Harry corrected, while looking at Caitlin, and she swore she actually felt her heart constrict. "Nothing was going to stop me from moving here."

"I'm trying to understand, though," Joe persisted, trying to wrap his mind around Harry's theory. "What you're saying is that you think, up until yesterday, we were all in a different timeline? Caitlin's timeline?" His eyes had widened exponentially.

"I think that's the strongest possibility, yes," Harry said. "I'm basing it on how we've seen changing timelines work in the past."

Unbidden, everyone looked toward Barry again; the speedster threw up his arms as Iris went to console him.

"I think I need a drink," Joe mumbled, running a hand over his face.

"Who knows, though?" Harry added. "We could be dealing with something new."

"I'm sick of dealing with new things," Jesse complained. She pushed on Cisco's knee and he obliged her by swinging his legs off the couch so she could sit on the end of it. "For once I want a week where everything is normal."

"A week?" Cisco laughed sardonically. "I'd take a _day_."

Caitlin felt oddly responsible for the entire thing – if she hadn't kept her old memories, they wouldn't know there was anything 'wrong' in the first place. She had to do something, anything, to help find answers. "I'll look back through newspaper archives," she told them, going over to her computer. "I'll start around the time Barry and Iris got together, see if I can spot anything that isn't the way I remember it."

Wally had gone over to join Barry at the board. "As far as we know, there are a limited number of things that can change the timeline," he said, writing 'speedsters' in blue marker, and then listing himself, Jesse, and Barry.

"Could one of you have done it and not remember?" Iris suggested, and even though she was ostensibly addressing the three of them, she was looking toward Harry for an answer.

"I've never known it to happen," he replied. "Which, again, isn't to say that it's impossible."

"Maybe there's another speedster we don't know about," Joe suggested.

"Just what we'd need," Iris sighed.

"Or…it could be one we _do_ know," Cisco slowly proposed. "Like Eobard. We know he's still around because the Legends team mentioned earlier this year that he'd been causing havoc throughout time…" He trailed off, quickly looking to Harry, as they both made the connection.

"The Legends team!" they simultaneously exclaimed.

Harry was obviously disappointed in himself at reaching that conclusion so late. "It makes sense – they're always changing things, so we might be the ones paying the price this time. I should have thought of them before. I can only blame being distracted by…other matters." He stood up, carelessly flipping the notepad over to Cisco who managed to catch it right before a corner hit him in the face.

"Man, that could have cost me an eye," Cisco griped.

"You have two of them," Harry said, unconcerned, as he walked over to the dry-erase board.

"I forgive you because these equations are the same as I had before," Cisco said, scanning what Harry had written. "In fact – hey, you completed some of them! Why didn't you help me last night?"

"I didn't know the answers last night," Harry said. "I must have had to sleep on it."

"Maybe the changing timeline made you smarter," Cisco suggested.

Harry laughed (and Caitlin wondered how he managed to make _laughter_ so condescending). "I don't think that's possible, Ramon." He jotted 'Legends?' on the board and turned to point at Cisco. "Your job is to get a message to them."

"It's always tricky, but I'll get it done," he promised. "They're not supposed to talk about what they change, but I'll make a convincing case, see if they might have unintentionally caused an aberration."

"Even if they haven't, talking to them could at least rule them out," Caitlin said. She'd been skimming news articles from three years prior, but nothing stood out to her so far. Everything seemed the same as she remembered, and it wasn't like she had perfect recall of events that far back, anyways.

"We still haven't talked about a plan, though," Joe reminded everyone, as he switched his gaze from Harry to Caitlin. "If they did something that inadvertently changed our timeline, what are we going to do? Are we going to ask them to restore things to how they were?"

"What's to stop them from doing it anyways?" Cisco asked, hesitating as he walked to his desk. "They could try to change it back without asking us."

"Exactly," Jesse said, worried at the mere possibility. "If this was because of them, that means they _already_ changed things once without asking. What's to stop them from doing it again? We could wake up tomorrow in an entirely different world and never know it!"

"You mean like what happened to all of us today?" Wally asked, voice hushed.

Joe had picked up on the horrifying implications, as well. "We wouldn't even know that anything had changed if Caitlin didn't remember it the other way." No one spoke for a few moments as the reality of his words sank in.

"I like my life," Iris finally said, breaking the silence. "I don't care if this timeline is new, it's a good one and I don't want it to change."

Everyone else carefully voiced their agreement that they didn't want the timeline to go back to the way it had been before, even if they wouldn't know it had changed.

It was like they'd forgotten… "You want to keep things the same," Caitlin said, as her friends turned back to her. "You don't want to help me."

"That's not what we said," Iris rushed to explain. "We _do_ want to help you. We want you to get back your memories of this timeline. You're so _happy_ here, Caitlin." Her voice wavered a little. "Or at least, you were…"

"Caitlin," Harry began, carefully, "you know how it works…there's no way to be certain you'd return to the same place you were before."

"You don't know that," she said, harshly. "If this was because of the Legends, if it was a mistake they made, they could try to fix it."

"Right, they could _try_ ," he emphasized. "You know it's a long-shot that they would be able to restore things exactly the way they were in the original timeline. Flashpoint was the worst example of that: trying to restore a timeline to its previous incarnation is near-impossible at best, and impossible at worst. Things never work perfectly. Every minor change has a cascading effect, and even the Legends – who can manipulate time much better than us – have made mistakes before that had permanent consequences."

There was nothing Caitlin could say to that; she knew it was true.

Jesse shivered after hearing her father's blunt and rather ominous summation. "Caitlin, what if you woke up in an entirely different place with new people?"

"Or didn't wake up at all because you were dead?" Cisco asked, flatly. When several people turned disapproving eyes toward him, he shrugged. "Sorry, but it's the truth, even if no one wants to say it. Or hear it."

"Would you really want to risk it?" Harry asked. "Not just your own life, but the lives of everyone you love? You could return to a timeline where someone here is gone and you'd never even know you were supposed to miss them."

It was an impossible situation, she knew that. And they were right. She couldn't in good conscience ask them to take that risk. It was one thing if the Legends team determined they had to fix their mistake on their own – it was quite another for her to ask them to do it on her behalf when everyone else might suffer for it.

And the thought of losing any of these people, even if she wouldn't be consciously aware of it… _that_ she couldn't stand.

She slowly shook her head, indicating it was a risk she wouldn't take, and she nearly felt the collective sigh of relief that went through the room.

"Don't tell the Legends _anything_ that's happened," Harry ordered Cisco. "Say that we need to meet with them about an important matter as soon as they can get here."

He waited until Cisco had started typing and then turned, catching Caitlin's eye across the room. He obviously wanted to talk, but Jesse got his attention first and Caitlin was glad. She didn't know what she could say to him right then.

Iris and Barry both approached her, but she brushed them off, asking for some time. She went back to the computer, staring at the screen without seeing anything. She had to wrap her mind around the fact that she might well be here to stay.

After a short time, Cisco came over to take the desk chair next to her.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Fine," she said, in as unwelcoming a tone as she could manage.

Obviously, that made him even more determined.

"You don't sound fine."

"Okay, I'm not fine. It doesn't matter, though." She blindly clicked on another news article from early 2015 – yet another meta-human captured and neutralized.

"Of course it matters." He gestured to Harry, who was talking to Jesse over on the couch. "So the two of you never…?"

"Nope, nothing. We're friends and co-workers. Like you and me."

"Sorry, but that makes no sense to me."

"You're used to me and Harry being together." It was strange for her to think they'd simply been a couple and everyone viewed it as normal. "It's difficult to imagine things another way. Think of how hard this is for me, coming from the opposite perspective."

"I get that this is hard for you, I do," Cisco began, "but damn, Caitlin, do you realize how lucky you are? A random new timeline and you suddenly have someone who loves you, who's devoted to –"

"I don't remem–"

"Right, I get that, but he is – even if you don't remember it. Meanwhile, I'm still as alone as ever –"

"You date people all the time," she cut him off. "And going by your late night, it's apparently the same in _both_ timelines."

"Don't get me wrong, I have a lot of fun," he sent her a small smirk, "but I've never been in love. I've never even come _close_ to love." The smile slipped off his face. "It's hard, sometimes, to look around and see all the couples around me. You and Harry, Jesse and Wally – don't even get me started on Iris and Barry – I half-suspect he moonlights as a writer for Hallmark cards." On cue, they both looked over to where Barry and Iris were sharing a kiss. "Come on, man," Cisco yelled, "it's been three years!"

"But it almost wasn't!" Barry cried, as he and Iris separated. "Who knows how much time we have? How much time any of us have, really…"

When Barry returned to simply staring at his girlfriend, apparently contemplating a life without her, Cisco called across the room: "Jess, get the fire extinguisher."

"Keep it up, Cisco," Iris said, giving his chair a kick as he fumbled for the edge of the desk to keep from rolling across the room. "I guess you _didn't_ want me to set you up with that cute new reporter at work?"

"I love you, Iris," Cisco simpered, blowing her a kiss, then spun in his chair to face Caitlin again. "See what I have to put up with?"

His complaint was loud enough that Harry heard, and he obviously couldn't let such an easy set-up pass him by. "It's definitely the other way around, Ramon. In fact, I think you'll be up first in the next round of lay-offs."

"You've never laid anyone off," Cisco brushed off the threat.

"Not for lack of trying," Harry claimed, as Wally went over to join him and Jesse, and their boss lost interest in harassing Cisco.

"Unfair workplace persecution against the single guy," Cisco was complaining, looking to Caitlin as if she'd help him. "I don't think there's any denying it at this point."

"I feel so terrible for you," she said, sarcastically, mostly wanting to get back to their earlier conversation. "You were saying…"

"Right, I'm getting off-track. I'm surrounded by people who are truly in love with each other. If Joe didn't spend half his time with us, I'd be the perpetual seventh wheel."

The admission was uncharacteristic, leaving Caitlin to wonder if they were closer in this timeline, or if he needed to share his feelings that badly. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I'm sure you'll find someone."

"You can skip the platitudes, okay?" He barely resisted rolling his eyes. "It wasn't my intention to get sympathy from you – my point was that you've been given a rare opportunity and I really hope you take advantage of it and don't throw it away."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know, like pushing Harry away? Or pretending you didn't just kill him a few minutes ago when you acted like the last thing you would ever want to do is stay in this timeline?"

She flinched at the reminder of how that must have sounded, from Harry's viewpoint. It seemed ever since she'd woken up last night, she kept saying and doing the wrong things. Still… "You can't blame me for wanting things to go back to the way they were because you'd all feel the same. You said as much five minutes ago – that if your world changed, you'd want it back to how it is now."

He considered that. "If you could look past the hypocrisy for a minute…"

"It's fine, Cisco, I get it. I understand because I'm _living_ it. But you can't expect me to act like everything's the same and that I feel the way I used to."

"I don't expect that, no one does," Cisco said, shaking his head. "But Caitlin, what have you lost? From what you said, your life is pretty much the same here – same job, same friends, same life…with the addition of something that made you incredibly happy. You lose _nothing_ by being here." He paused a moment before concluding with the point he'd been working toward all along: "It's Harry who's lost everything."

His words hit her so hard that it was like they caused actual, physical pain; for a moment, Caitlin couldn't breathe. She dropped her head so he wouldn't see the tears brimming in her eyes. She'd been trying not to think about it too much, because she'd known it would hurt, but hearing Cisco say it out loud… "I don't know what to do. I don't know how to fix anything for him."

"I'm not saying there's some easy solution to any of this." Cisco leaned forward in his chair, trying to convey the seriousness of his next words. "I'm saying that you fell in love with him once. Who's to say you couldn't again?"

His words resonated with her in an unexpected way and she found herself looking in Harry's direction again. He was still with Jesse, who now appeared troubled, and she wondered if they were talking about her.

 _Could_ she fall in love with him again? She'd already been thinking of him in a different way, and she didn't know if it was because of the timeline change or if it was because of…him. The way he was with her.

Cisco must have realized she wasn't going to answer his question, so he tried another tactic. "I'm guessing you don't want to talk about what happened last night, since you didn't offer any details…"

"It was so strange," she told him, not realizing how much she _did_ want to talk about it until the words were spilling out. "I know him and I don't. I remember living there, yet I don't. I know things I shouldn't know, I feel things I didn't –" She abruptly stopped.

Cisco straightened in his chair at that last, cut-off admission. "What's that, now?"

"I don't know how to describe it." She glanced around, making sure there was no one to overhear, and kept her voice low. "I feel…more for him than I did in my own timeline. When I first woke up and he explained what was going on, I was shocked, maybe in denial. As the night went on, and then waking up today, it seems it's getting stronger, almost."

"It's like your heart remembers," Cisco whispered, in awe.

She arched a brow at him. "I thought Barry was the writer for Hallmark?"

Cisco burst out laughing. "Sorry, but how else do you explain it? Why would you have feelings for him now when you had none before? Unless you _did_ have them before…"

She'd considered that, as well. That she might have cared about him more than she'd been willing to admit to herself on a conscious level. "It's possible, I guess, but this is more than…admiring someone from afar."

"More than a crush, you mean?"

He'd said it better than she could. "Yes, exactly. It doesn't feel superficial, Cisco. It runs deeper than that." At the hopeful look on his face, she added, "I'm not saying I'm in love with him, not anything close. Only that I care about him in a different way than before."

"Yup," he was grinning at her now, "your heart definitely remembers. Or your soul. This is fantastic – you have to tell him."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. He's still a stranger to me in a lot of ways. I have to get to know him again, and…" The next part was painful to admit, but she'd always been a realist. "Just because we worked as a couple before doesn't mean we would now, or in the future." (If their future was even _in_ this timeline and the Legends didn't do something to change that.)

"Caitlin, don't make this harder than it has to be," he implored.

She knew he didn't see the real problem. "Cisco. It scares me."

After Ronnie, she hadn't known if she could fall in love with another person, hadn't known if she'd had it in her. And now she randomly had feelings for Harry that had appeared in a single day. She knew the others would attribute it to a possible return of her memories, but it simply didn't feel _real_ to her. How could it when she had no basis for it? She should have had a year and a half of memories with him as a couple and all she had so far was one day. It made for a strange conflict in her mind, the dichotomy refusing to let her sort her emotions the proper way since she had no context for them.

"What scares you?" Cisco questioned. "Him?"

"No, not him," she rushed to say. Harrison Wells had never, and _would_ never, scare her. "What I feel, Cisco. It doesn't seem possible since I don't know him in the way that would warrant that kind of emotion."

"Then get to know him again," he suggested, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. And from his perspective (having already seen them fall in love), maybe it was.

His advice only left her frustrated, though. It seemed impossible to her that this situation could have such an 'easy' solution. _Sure, Caitlin, just go on a few dates with the guy who's already your husband and it'll all come rushing back!_ This world (that had taken her first husband from her) didn't, _couldn't_ work that way. It was too easy. There had to be a catch that she was missing.

"I can't snap my fingers, Cisco, and make everything go back to how it was."

"No one's saying that." He must have registered her doubt. "If you saw it the way I do… Our world – my world – doesn't make sense without the two of you together." At her surprise, he went on, "I know you might not understand, but you've had a connection with him since he came here from Earth-2. The two of you together has made _everything_ else better. From the reputation of S.T.A.R. Labs, to what we do for this city, to how we are as a team. Do you know how many people have come to us asking for help controlling their powers?"

"From the question, I'm guessing a lot?"

"Yes, a lot, and before Harry came here, we couldn't help anyone. We didn't have the means and no one would have trusted us even if we did." He studied her face. "Did we help meta-humans in the other timeline?"

She shook her head, ashamed to realize it wasn't a topic they'd ever even discussed. "Usually they're angry and want to hurt people and destroy things. If we do 'help' it's generally unintentional in an effort to remove or neutralize their powers before they can do more damage."

"What else can they do in a society that hates them? That gives them no other alternative?" He sounded frustrated. "Guess what, if you give people an option and they know they won't be attacked or vilified for being different, most of them choose to use their powers for _good_."

"A lot of things sound better here," she admitted.

"Harrison Wells saved us from bankruptcy," Cisco continued, "and he took over this place when Barry didn't want to deal with it anymore – in turn, we made this world so necessary to him that he wouldn't leave it." He smiled again, remembering something she couldn't. "We all spend a lot of time together. I'm sure he told you that while pretending he hates it?"

Caitlin's throat tightened as she thought about Harry in her timeline…how hard it must have been for him, living a mostly solitary life, cut off from everyone (including their team) except at work. If he'd been unhappy, he'd never let on. "In my time, S.T.A.R. Labs is still universally hated. He can't even go out in public since the world thinks he's dead – and that's the way they like it, after blaming him for the explosion. We all work together as a team, and I thought we were close, but seeing the way things are here…it's nowhere near the same." She thought about what Harry had told her earlier. "He said it himself, that he's happier now. The more I see, the more I believe him."

"That's because of us," Cisco said, and there was no mistaking the dash of pride in his voice. "It's because of you."

She couldn't get over how warmly Cisco spoke about him. He and Harry weren't enemies in her time, not anymore, but they were a long way from 'close'. She was used to their careful co-existence, grudging respect on both their parts, and the kind of required caring for each other that came from being part of a team. The way Cisco was talking now, though…she was pretty sure she saw genuine love there.

"I never thought I'd see the day that you not only wanted to make Harrison Wells happy, but you were proud that you'd had some part in it."

"He's done a lot for us." He'd drifted off into some other thought where Caitlin couldn't follow him. "More than I think we could ever repay."

"I don't think he'd want you to repay him."

"You're right about that, too." Cisco seemed to realize he was treading into dangerously sentimental territory as he quickly cleared his throat and said, "Don't get me wrong, we have plenty of arguments. Some things we'll never agree on. He can be difficult, sometimes impossible. But…I can't imagine how things would be without him. Nor do I want to find out."

"I don't, either," she said, almost in reflex for how true it was. (She didn't want to face life without any of them, but the thought of a life without Harrison Wells… _that_ would be painful in a completely different way.)

They both glanced over at where Harry was now lost in thought, surveying Barry's colorful diagram.

"That man would do anything for you," Cisco said.

"I'm kind of getting that."

Cisco looked back at her. "That includes pretending he's fine when he's not."

Yeah, she was getting that, too. "I tried talking to him this morning, but he wanted no part of it. It didn't surprise me; he's not one to talk about his emotions."

"No," Cisco agreed, "he's not. Except when it comes to you."

His casual statement gave her the slightest hint about their life and she needed to know more. "Cisco, could you… What were we like?" She faltered slightly before clarifying, "Together?"

He thought for a minute before settling on, "In love."

"Cisco."

"That's the best summary for it," he insisted. "You don't bother hiding your affection for each other. I get sick of you two just as much as Barry and Iris – though you're not as sappy as Barry, so that's a marginal improvement. At first, I thought you did it to annoy me, so I stopped reacting. When you kept doing it, I realized that's the way you two are."

He was speaking in the present tense, like Harry had. "That's really hard for me to picture," she said.

"It took me a while to realize it was mostly unconscious," Cisco told her. "Little things, like you'll sit closer together than you have to, or touch each other when you walk by. It's more like…you're always reassuring yourselves the other's still there." His voice dropped and he looked away from her. "That's when I understood."

Caitlin didn't need an explanation, either. They'd done it because they both knew what it was like to have their other half disappear. Now Harry was going through it all over again, in a new way.

"You need him and he knows that," Cisco told her. "Make no mistake, though…he needs you as much, if not more. I know you don't remember how you felt about him, but if you did, there isn't anything you wouldn't do to make sure he was okay."

"That's how I feel now," she whispered, and it was fascinating to see the relief spread across Cisco's face.

"You said he was reluctant to talk?" He waited for her to nod. "I can only guess it's because he doesn't want to burden you, or upset you, or whatever other twisted idea he has in his mind about it."

"He wouldn't be doing anything of the sort," she swore.

"Tell him that," Cisco said, gently. "Not me."

 _Yeah_ , she thought, looking across the room at her…husband. _I will_.

He wasn't going to evade her this time, either.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is enjoying this! And special thanks to Tavyn who has talked me through so much of this story until I was happy with it – your support is immeasurable and I appreciate it more than you know.

Caitlin should have known by now that it was always a risky thing to make plans – that seemed to hold true in every version of a life with this team.

The night after her talk with Cisco – the same night she planned to corner Harry and have a serious discussion with him – was when a new meta-human decided to go on a rampage in Central City.

("I thought you said people loved us here?!" she'd yelled at Cisco, on the third day of not having an answer on how to contain the latest threat. "Most, I swear I said _most_!" he'd shot back, as they watched Barry nearly get killed on the screen in front of them. Again.)

It took four days for them to figure out a contingency plan that allowed Barry to capture the meta (who could generate enough heat to start fires anywhere on a whim) and send him to Iron Heights. Those four days were _long_. When their team was able to get a few hours to make it home, they took advantage of it by eating or sleeping. She had almost no time alone with Harry to talk, and when she did, she quickly learned that he was as much an expert at avoiding things in this timeline as he had been in her own.

That wasn't to say she didn't try. There were a handful of times that she seized an opening to broach the topic of how he was feeling, but he simply wouldn't cooperate. Oh, he was all too happy to listen and talk about _her_ issues, but the moment she turned it toward him, he distracted her so well that she didn't realize what he was doing until they'd moved on to some other topic and he'd come up with an excuse that necessitated him being anywhere except with her.

His behavior might not have been that obvious to anyone else, but Caitlin found it pretty glaring. It unnerved her that he'd go to such lengths to avoid talking about himself. Cisco must have been right; Harry didn't want to put any extra stress or burden on her while she was trying to find her place in a new timeline. (In a new _life_ , really.)

She tried to rationalize it, telling herself that he needed time, and that was okay with her. To a point. But she couldn't give him forever and she was getting more concerned about him as the days went on.

He was looking at her less and less, now.

That was what made her start worrying more than she'd already been. She began having fleeting thoughts, creeping in against her will…thoughts that tortured her with the possibilities. What if his avoidance had nothing to do with what she might say and was instead about what _he_ might say? Maybe there was something he didn't want to tell her and he was putting it off for as long as he could.

She couldn't shake the feeling that if he _did_ have something unpleasant to tell her, it might have to do with their friends. Things weren't the same with them as they'd been in her timeline (and how could they be?). They'd been treating her slightly different since they found out she had no memory of this life. She wasn't blind; she saw the furtive glances they sent her way, studying her behavior when they thought she wouldn't notice (and she pretended not to). She heard the worry in the loaded questions they asked about her other life. They wanted to know how their other selves had acted in her timeline, if their lives were the same, and if she had the same relationships with them as they'd had with her here.

She didn't even mind most of that. Their curiosity was natural; she'd probably ask the same things if this had happened to one of them. The questions she hated, though, were the ones that had to do with her and Harry:

 _How did she feel about him?_ (Luckily for Cisco, he knew enough to keep his mouth shut every time he heard someone ask that.)

 _Why did she think they'd fallen in love here, but not in her timeline?_ (Like she was a therapist, or better yet, a theoretical physicist well-versed in alternate realities and the vagaries of fate.)

And the worst one of all – _did she think she was going to stay with him?_ (Which only made her wonder if they'd asked him that same question when she wasn't around…and if so, what had he said?)

As such, whenever the subject of 'her and Harry' came up, she diverted their attention as quickly as she could. It probably troubled them, but it was better than giving an answer they wouldn't like.

Their other favorite topic was asking what she was going to do with her life: did she want to keep working at S.T.A.R. Labs and remain on their team? At least on that point she could reassure them that she wasn't going anywhere, but she knew they still wondered if she'd leap at the chance to fix the timeline (assuming they found some possible means to restore it).

She saw their fear because she was afraid, too. They didn't want her to hold out hope of returning to her own timeline – they wanted her to _want_ to stay. In turn, she was terrified that if she never retrieved any of her memories, they would eventually see…they would realize…

She'd never be the same as the woman they'd known.

They kept going on about how they were 'certain' they could help her regain the memories supposedly lost in her head, but she was much more skeptical. They could wish for it all they wanted, but eventually they might have to accept the conclusion that she'd been staring down since that first day: she might never have concrete memories of this time, never anything more than the vague unconscious knowledge (and feelings) she'd pinpointed thus far.

There was a very real possibility that if she stayed here, she would be _herself_. She could only hope that would be enough for them.

But what if it wasn't? _What would she do then?_

The only person she hadn't seen that worry or fear from was Harry, but she knew he was better at hiding things than the others. He'd proven that a dozen times over in her own timeline.

And now he was going out of his way to escape whenever she tried to talk about anything real…

At a loss for what else to do, she'd made the decision to be more proactive. She went through every photo and text she could find on her phone. She read over past case notes and projects at work to see what she'd done the past few years. She talked to everyone as often as possible, stealing alone time with all of them to try and get hints and insights into how she'd been in this timeline. She needed to know the way she'd acted, the way she'd felt, the way she'd _thought_.

She wasn't trying to be more like the Caitlin they knew, not exactly (that wasn't possible). It was more that she was trying to avoid doing anything that would cause them to see her as even more of a stranger.

They were already comparing her to the way she'd been before. Cisco had proven as much when he'd suggested she could simply fall in love with Harry again. She'd heard the same types of comments from everyone else, too, some veiled and some not.

It was plain to see that they all loved Harrison Wells and they wanted _her_ to love him, too.

Although she cared about him, more than she had in her time, there was no guarantee she'd ever _fall in love_ with him. How much would they resent her if she never felt the same as their Caitlin? If she never turned back into who they wanted her to be?

She liked to think such a scenario was far-fetched, but even if it came to pass, she could probably get through it. If her relationships with her friends became strained as they accepted the new reality of who she was, she was fairly confident she could win them over, in time. She wasn't _that_ different; the timelines had only diverged roughly three years prior. She'd already known them and been on the team at that point. Yes, it had been new and they hadn't been close, not the way they eventually would be, but she'd built up those friendships once. She could do it again…if she had to (and she prayed she'd never have to).

No, it wasn't her relationships with her teammates that kept her up late at night. It was her relationship with Harry.

She knew he had to be holding onto the idea that she'd return to the way she'd been, that eventually, somehow, her memories would come back. (Who wouldn't hope for that if their loved one ended up in a similar situation?)

So what was he going to do if ( _when_ ) he realized that would never happen? That question had sparked her new greatest fear: facing the inevitable day that any residual affection he had for her disappeared. She could only imagine his face when he accepted that he was essentially living with a stranger – a stranger who looked and sounded like his wife, but who definitely _wasn't_ her on any level that mattered.

Why wouldn't he hate that she got to be here when his wife was never coming back? And the day that he ever looked at her with anything even _close_ to resentment or dislike…

She couldn't bear that, nor did she have any idea how she'd get through it.

That was why she thought carefully about everything she said and did. It was why she spent hours trying to figure out what approach the other Caitlin – his wife – would have taken to try and get him to talk about things he didn't want to discuss. Would she have done it craftily, trying to start the conversation without him realizing her tactics? Would she have tried to rationalize with him on an intellectual level? Would she have pleaded with him on an emotional one?

Would she have simply confronted him and told him he didn't have a choice, whether he got angry or not? (Would _she_ have been equally as angry?)

It was exhausting to try and fit into someone else's life. (Because as much as she believed Harry's explanation that she was essentially the same person who had been here before, it simply didn't _feel_ that way.)

It was Monday evening, five days since she'd woken up here, and she was waiting for him in the foyer. They'd gone into work separately because he'd wanted to stay late with Cisco to make sure S.T.A.R. Labs' security system hadn't been permanently damaged in the latest round of chaos. That had meant running every test the two of them could conceivably think of in order to make sure no meta-humans could get into – or out of – the building.

She'd made up her mind that tonight, no matter what, they were having this conversation. She'd never settled on a strategy for talking to him – how could she when she was so anxious about it potentially being the 'wrong' one and that he'd immediately notice she wasn't doing what her other self would have done? So she was…strategy-less. (Unless 'agitated and nervous' counted as a strategy – in which case, their discussion would go perfectly.)

"We need to talk," she said, right as he walked through the front door.

She knew by the way his eyes shot over to her that she'd startled him. If she hadn't been watching closely, he would have been able to play it off.

"Nothing good ever follows those words," he said, pushing the door shut. Although his tone was light, there was a weariness there that she hated hearing.

She got up from where she was sitting on the staircase and took a few steps toward him. "Maybe I can prove that wrong."

Her question fulfilled its intended meaning when his gaze turned more affectionate. "If anyone could, it'd be you."

(God, he looked so tired. He looked as tired as she'd _felt_ the past five days.)

"So you'll talk to me?" she asked, hopefully.

"Are you okay?" he replied, in lieu of a real answer.

She was so _sick_ of that question. She swore she'd heard it a hundred times over the past several days. "I'm fine. This is about you."

She could literally see the change in him as he went from instantly willing to talk to completely closed-off. "Does it have to be now?" He turned away to set the alarm code. "It's been a long week."

"It's Monday."

"You've made my point for me."

"You can't keep avoiding me."

"Who says I'm avoiding you?" he asked, walking across the foyer to the credenza on the far side of it, and though he dropped some mail there, she couldn't help wondering if it was another ploy so he wouldn't have to look at her.

"Your back is to me," she said, hands on her hips. " _And_ you were walking away from me as you said that."

"Maybe you're just bad at keeping up," he threw over his shoulder, then hung up his coat in one of the front closets.

She wasn't sure if that was invitation or not to keep talking. She considered using it as an out to delay this conversation yet again…it might put off something she was hoping he'd never say. ( _Sorry, but you're not the same_.)

In the end, though, she couldn't stand the worry anymore. She'd been overwhelmed with guilt since her talk with Cisco, and every day that passed, she knew Harry was probably struggling more. If she could help him with that, then she was going to – whether he wanted her help or not.

That was something she knew the other her would have done, no matter _what_ way she went about it.

"Harrison…" she began, letting the weight of his full name speak for itself.

His face was set, expression shuttered. "I don't want to talk about this tonight."

"I don't care."

He turned away from her. Again.

"Stop it," she pleaded, letting her voice reveal some of her worry. "I _hate_ that."

"What?"

"When you won't look at me."

At that, he turned back to her, crossing his arms. "I don't know what you mean."

"You avoid looking at me when you want to hide how you're feeling."

He actually started to turn away again before purposely stopping himself and firmly meeting her eyes. "No, I don't."

"Yes, you do. But that's not the issue we need to discuss, no matter how much it annoys me."

He sighed, but to his credit, he held her gaze. "I already know what you want to talk about." There was something in his tone that she couldn't place, but she knew she didn't like it.

She was glad he'd acknowledged the topic, at least. There was her answer for why he'd been avoiding her (and she was more than a little relieved that it was about his feelings and not some issue he had with her). "If you know," she told him, "then you'll agree that ignoring it isn't going to fix anything."

"I know our situation hasn't been ideal." He started rummaging around in one of the drawers of the credenza, the one where he put recent mail he'd yet to file away (he had an entire filing cabinet dedicated to that in their office, she'd seen it). "I'm sorry. I should have been more…thoughtful of how difficult this is for you."

"You've been more than thoughtful enough," Caitlin assured him, wondering how he could doubt himself on that front. "This isn't about anything you've done wrong. I know how hard this has been for you, too. You're good at hiding it, but we should get this out in the open and –" She stopped talking when he handed her a stack of papers and she curiously flipped through them to find they were bank account statements.

"Those are yours," he said. "You hadn't asked yet, but I knew it was only a matter of time."

Her eyes were drawn to the statement balances in bold on each page – she had a lot of money, apparently. A couple were savings accounts, some were investment accounts. And another statement listed her as a shareholder for – wait. She glanced up at him in shock. "I own part of S.T.A.R. Labs?"

The surprise was evident in his eyes; he hadn't been expecting that question. "You all do. Barry was insistent – you and Cisco helped keep it together when Eobard disappeared and the financial situation became dire. Remember how you both went without paychecks for a while?" He tapped the paper where it showed her number of shares. "That was how Barry thanked you. Then he transferred part ownership to me in return for keeping it out of bankruptcy. I didn't want him to, but…you can't argue with Allen when he gets something in his head."

"I had no idea," Caitlin murmured, inadvertently answering his unspoken question about whether it had been the same in her timeline.

"What I'm trying to show you is that you're not a prisoner here, Caitlin."

It took her a second to regain the conversation. "Who said I was?"

"No one," he replied. "It's just…the front door's wide open."

They both looked over at the closed front door.

"Theoretically speaking, it's wide open." He paused a moment, scratching his head. "Except for how I already set the alarm, so you'll need to put in the code to disarm it, and I changed it today – I'll write it down for you."

"What?" She felt so lost.

He was already jotting the code on a scrap of paper. "We both know where this is going," he said, voice tight (and how convenient that he didn't have to look at her as he was writing). "I can't believe you'd want me to sit and listen to it, though."

Did he really want to avoid talking about his feelings that badly? She automatically took the alarm code he was holding out to her. "Why are you acting like I'm trying to torture you?"

"How else would you expect me to act?" he challenged, as an answer, which only confused her more. He shut his eyes, and when he opened them again, there was _nothing_ there – at least no emotion that she could discern. "Where are you going to go?"

_Where would she go? What was he talking about?_

"Barry and Iris would let you stay with them," he offered, answering his own question when she didn't, "but that would mean living with Allen, so really think about that. I also recommend avoiding Ramon, he dates a new girl every week, but Joe's always an option. Or you could go to a hotel."

She stared at him, trying to process what was happening. He was telling her what was hers, and he was giving her suggestions on where to…

A strange feeling was building in her, like she wasn't really in her own body. She felt alternately hot and cold, light and heavy, dizzy to the point of fainting, and everything was coming together in a way it should have days ago.

She thought he might still be talking, but she could no longer hear him over the rush of blood in her ears. _Of course_.

He didn't want her there anymore.

She reached out to put a hand on the wall next to her for some kind of stability in a world that he'd effortlessly upended in an instant. For a few seconds, her vision went white, and when it came back, she saw things the way she should have since the moment she'd woken up.

This was her worst fear realized – the reason he'd been avoiding her. Not because he sensed that she wanted to talk about his feelings, but because he hadn't known how to tell her _this_.

He'd been kind to her, so she'd naïvely let herself believe that he was going to give her more time. He must have seen pretty quickly that there were too many differences. That he was living with a stranger.

( _No, worse_ , her mind whispered. _An imposter_.)

She was someone who looked and sounded like the woman he loved, but she wasn't that woman at all. She didn't share those memories, she didn't have those same feelings, she didn't _know_ him.

It had been purely wishful thinking on her part that he might one day be able to view her the same way he'd viewed the person he was in love with. She hadn't even been able to commit to the idea of staying with him, so what made her think he'd make the same concession for her?

Still, out of everyone, she thought _he'd_ wait a little longer for her. That he'd be more understanding of the fact that the changing timeline meant she _couldn't_ be the same, even if she tried. Hadn't he said…

"Have you really decided so quickly that I'm not… That I'll never be enough?" She had no idea how she managed to finish the question without her voice breaking.

That seemed to take him by surprise. "What?"

"I know we might never have the same relationship. How could we? But I thought we could work things out because we were friends before, in both timelines. I thought that'd be enough even if I wasn't…" _her_. "I've been trying not to give you an excuse," she finished, worry and disillusion and fear mixing together with a slowly growing anger that he'd do this to her when she'd been putting everything she had into not disappointing them. Him.

"An excuse?" he repeated, sharply. "For what?"

"An excuse not to give up on me!" she burst out, angrier still that he didn't get it. "And this is your answer? 'Here's the money that's yours'? I was _trying_ , Harry. I swear I was." She threw the papers at him, and as she watched them harmlessly flutter to the floor between them, her fury evaporated. What did it matter? What was the point of _any of it_? She'd already lost.

"Who said anyone's giving up on you?" he demanded. "And how were you 'trying' not to give us an excuse? What does that even mean?"

She looked down at the bank account statements at their feet.

His tone became more urgent. "What does that _mean_ , Caitlin?"

"You said I'd always have you," she accused, unable to fully conceal the hurt she felt. "Why would you tell me that if there were conditions to it?"

He momentarily stilled at her words, putting everything together. "Are you trying to be who you think we want you to be?" He took a step closer, kicking some of the papers out of the way. "Are you trying to be…her?"

"No. Not really." She was unexpectedly ashamed at what she was telling him. "It's more that I was trying not to be…me."

"I can't believe I didn't see it." Now he sounded upset, but she could tell it was with himself and not her. "I can't – I'm _sorry_. I didn't know what you were doing. If I had, I'd have told you to stop."

She had a pretty good idea why. "I know I'll never measure up. How could I when I'm missing nearly three years of memories?"

"That's not it," he protested. "I don't want you to be anyone except _you_."

 _Sure, that's why you're on the verge of booking me a hotel room_.

"You don't have to try and make me feel better," she said, dejected, as she knelt down to pick up the papers scattered on the floor.

"I'm telling you the truth," he insisted. "And why are you this upset when _you_ wanted to leave?"

"When did I say that?" she demanded, looking up at him. "If you hadn't noticed, I'm _right here_."

He got down on the floor with her, ignoring the papers. "For how long?"

"I hadn't thought about it," she whispered, and it was true. Maybe because the idea of it scared her. A ready-made life she'd had no part in choosing – how was she supposed to commit to that, especially after only a few days? (More troubling, how was it possible she could want it as much as she did after the same short amount of time?)

Maybe accepting that she wanted to stay, that she _could_ stay, felt too much like throwing away the person she'd been before.

"You hoped that the timeline could go back to the way it was," he was saying. "You only reluctantly agreed to stay here when we reminded you that changing it back could result in things turning much worse for everyone. Have you…changed your mind?"

Had she? What would she do if she got the option to go back? Would she turn it down? Or would she seize it with everything she had?

"It's not hard to connect the dots, Caitlin," he continued, when she didn't answer him. "Wanting to go back means that you want to leave this life. It would mean that we erased this timeline _entirely_. You'd forget about this life… _our_ life."

She stared at one of the bank statements, as if she were interested in it, when she was really taking a page from his book and trying to avoid looking at him. "Is that why you don't want me here anymore? Because you're angry at me?"

"I'm not angry at you and I never said I don't want you here."

She shoved the paper she was holding against his chest. "This says otherwise."

He grabbed it and then dropped it back onto the stack she'd gathered. "I only gave you these because I thought you were about to leave."

"I wasn't."

"I thought…" His sentence faded as he studied her, reevaluating. "You've been wanting to talk and I could tell it was about something you weren't looking forward to, so I assumed…"

" _That's_ why you've been avoiding me?" she asked, as he nodded. It suddenly made sense, why he'd gone from so open with her to completely withdrawn. He hadn't wanted to hear that she was done – it was further proof of what Cisco had said. Her friend's voice had been playing on a loop in her head for days.

_It's Harry who's lost everything._

Everything.

How could she possibly reassure him when she was so confused herself? She had no idea…but she had to try.

"I know I'm not the woman you loved," she put forth, slowly. "I know you're probably suffering more than I am, that you've lost…"

"What?" He narrowed his eyes at her. "What have I lost?"

"Everything," she said, reluctantly, and the word tasted like ash in her mouth, reminding her of all she was lacking. "I know you've lost everything."

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" If it were possible, he looked angrier than he'd been a few moments earlier. And that was when he'd thought she was leaving.

"Our relationship. And me." She shrugged, helplessly. "The way that I was."

"Funny," he snapped, "last time I checked you were right here." She was all too aware that he was throwing her own words back at her.

"I'm not –"

"If you say one more time that you're not her…" His words were icy enough that she found herself shivering at the tone.

"It's the truth, Harry. I'm _not_ her. You wishing otherwise doesn't matter."

"Who said I'm wishing otherwise?"

That stopped her cold. "What?"

"Would it be amazing if you woke up and had memories of this timeline? Absolutely. Do your memories, or lack of them, affect how I feel about you? Absolutely _not_."

She pressed her fingers to her eyes that ached with unshed tears. She didn't believe him.

"I do want you to remember," he allowed, "but for _you_ , Caitlin. For me, it doesn't matter. It will _never_ matter because I love you. I love who you _are_. And that's not contingent on anything – not your memories…not even how you feel about me."

She debated telling him about the new, strange feelings she had for him, that they were getting stronger every day and she didn't know why. She decided against it, though – there was no reason to get his hopes up that she might be regaining her memories if it never actually happened. She was already hurting him enough unintentionally, just from what had happened to her…she didn't need to add anything more to that list.

Since she couldn't reassure him the way she wanted (the way he deserved), she turned to the topic he'd still been expertly avoiding for days. "You can't honestly tell me that you're as calm and collected about this as you're pretending to be. I know better. Even though I might not know you here, I know you in my timeline. And this," she gestured at him, "perfectly composed man before me is not the real you."

"I don't know what –"

"Save it," she ordered. "What's really going on? Why have you let me go on about my own fears and insecurities without telling me anything _real_?"

"Because," he said, irritably, as if it were an answer.

"Because why?" she pressed.

"Because of _you_ ," he ground out, and before she could start thinking he was about to remind her of who she wasn't, he explained, "If I don't keep it together, then what happens? You need me. _Everyone_ needs me."

A new understanding dawned at what he was saying. "You think we'd fall apart without you."

"I'm not going to risk anything happening to you – any of you, really – but especially _you_ because I wasn't focused on the things that needed my attention."

"Harry, we're a group of extraordinarily capable people. I know you want to protect us, but it goes both ways. You're allowed to need us, too." She wanted to reach out to him, but she didn't know how. "You're allowed to need _me_."

He looked at her speculatively.

"I'm not her," she held up a hand when he was about to protest that, "but I care about you. A lot. And I need you to be okay."

"I appreciate that –"

"You're not hearing me," she interrupted. "I _need_ you to be okay. If you're not okay, then I'm not okay."

He searched her eyes for a few moments, looking for something. Maybe the truth. Finally, he leaned back against the wall next to them. "Caitlin. I'm terrified."

Although he didn't expand on that simple statement, she had a few guesses about where he was going. "That this is permanent? That you'll never get back the life you had before?"

He tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling, and laughed a little, but it was sad. "All of this and you still don't see it?"

"Tell me, then," she begged. "What could possibly be worse than me never remem–"

"That you're going to leave me!" he yelled. His tone dropped precipitously when he explained, " _That_ is what I think about every hour of every day, what I have not _stopped_ thinking about since you woke up and had no idea why you were here and the only thing you wanted…" He looked away. "You only wanted to go _home_."

She couldn't say anything as she wiped at the tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

"You still want to go home. And there's no…there's no way for me to convince you that _this_ is your home."

Could she tell him that she was starting to understand how this house, with him, might have felt like home? She had to say _something_ , reassure him in some way –

He kept talking, though. "You get offers all the time. You could go to any engineering lab in this country or outside of it – you could _run_ any of them. I'm pretty sure the only reason you never left before is because of our relationship. And now that's not keeping you here." He took a breath, which was her only indication how hard the next words were for him: "You can always pursue some other life, Caitlin. Even if you're in this timeline forever, I meant what I said earlier – you're not a prisoner here."

"Do you really think I feel that way? That this is like being in a prison?" she demanded, leaning a few inches closer to him. She had to make a choice, and his comparison couldn't be further from the truth, which was what finally spurred her on. "My job is here, my friends. You. I'm not _trapped_ , Harry."

"You're not?" he asked, very carefully, and he wasn't looking at her. (She wondered if she'd ever break him of that habit. And…she wanted to. She wanted to be here long enough to succeed.)

"I'm not," she said, quietly, "and I'm not leaving." It wasn't until she'd said it that she realized how much she meant it. "Do you see the irony? Your biggest fear is that I'll want to leave and mine is that you'll tell me I have to go."

" _That's_ what you're scared of?" He turned to her again, disbelief crossing his face. "That I'm going to kick you out? I thought you were upset before because of the misunderstanding, I didn't realize…" He shook his head, and she couldn't quite pinpoint the expression on his face. Remorse? Regret? Apology? "You've been afraid this whole time?"

She shifted so she could pull her knees up to her chest and wrap her arms around them. "Well, yeah. I keep thinking, how long is it going to take for you to realize that I'm basically a stranger?"

"Stop saying things like that. You're not a stranger to me any more than I'm one to you." He stared across the foyer, toward the front door, and she wondered what he was seeing in his mind. "We did have a relationship before all this, you know."

"I know." She smiled fondly at her memories of working with him the past few years in her own timeline. (She wondered how many of their memories were the same, due to crossover events in the timelines, and they simply didn't realize it yet.) "I was always happy with you." She knew she was starting to blush so she glanced down. "In my time, I enjoyed working with you, and talking to you. Solving problems with you. We got along really well."

"It was the same here," he said. "Kind of what led to us getting together, actually."

"How'd that happen anyway?"

"You threw yourself at me," he said, eyes glinting. "I tried to say no, but you were insistent."

She sent him a wry look. "Somehow I doubt it happened exactly like that."

"Okay, maybe not _exactly_. But close enough."

She had to laugh, because it was so perfectly the kind of thing he'd say to her. She was so happy (so _relieved_ ) to hear him back to the joking, lighthearted tone he'd had with her for the past several days.

When her laughter faded, they just looked at each other for a minute as she tried to think of what she could say to reassure him.

"This life with you," she began, "I'm trying to remember it, and even if I can't…I'm still giving this world a shot. Just be patient with me. Give me the same chance I'm giving you."

What she wanted to say was, _Don't compare me to who I was before._ The more she learned, and the more she saw how much he'd loved her, how much he _still_ did, the more she thought she'd never be able to live up to it.

"You don't ever have to ask me for a chance," he told her. "Though I should warn you, if we're going to live here as friends for now, that's a dangerous game." The growing smile on his face should have clued her in to his punchline: "If you spend enough time with me, there's an 85% chance you'll find yourself falling hopelessly in love."

She couldn't suppress her own grin. "Only 85%, huh?"

"I have to take the timeline changes into account," he explained. "You _did_ date Zolomon over there – when the 'me' in your timeline was around and single. How is it even possible you'd choose him over me?"

"He was charming," she said, trying not to laugh.

"And I'm not?" He sounded personally offended.

"Uh, at the time? No, you really weren't. Besides, it wasn't like you were an option, you know."

"You must have shut me down without realizing it. There's no other explanation."

She let his words wash over her, appreciating how much his teasing comforted her (maybe it did the same for him).

After a minute, she said, "So it's decided that we're in this together. Deal?" She offered her hand.

He closed his hand around hers firmly and she felt electricity run through her at the contact. "It's a deal, Snow. Though I can tell you right now," he used his grip to pull her closer, "I'll never want out."

"You don't know that," she tried to argue, mostly in an attempt to ignore the heat that flared through her at his move. "You said it yourself – the past few years in my own timeline might have changed me in other ways." Against her will, more of her insecurity slipped through. "Maybe I'm impossible to live with now."

"Not for me," he said, getting to his feet and pulling her up with him. He shoved all the account statements back into the drawer he'd taken them from, like he was glad he didn't have to look at the reminders that he'd thought she might walk out of his life. "Even if you _were_ that different, I'd just learn to love who you are now."

He said it off-handedly, like it was a fact she should have already known, and whether he'd said it casually on purpose or not, his promise only made her care more deeply for him than she had before.

(And for the first time, she knew it had nothing to do with the other timeline.)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a warning, this chapter deals with Caitlin's nightmares and gets pretty dark at times, but everything's better by the end. I didn't want anyone to be taken by surprise. And as always, thank you for the encouragement so far!

 

When Caitlin woke up, she knew where she was, even with her eyes shut.

The sound gave it away – it would have been unnaturally silent, except for the humming of distant machinery.

Was it a generator for electricity? Some kind of torture device he was waiting to use on her?

Whatever it was, every time she woke up, she _always_ heard that distant humming.

She waited a long time before opening her eyes.

It was a game to him, sometimes. See how long she'd pretend to be asleep just to avoid him. And she played along because it was a brief respite from the inevitable.

Eventually, though, the waiting would get to her. There was only so long she could pretend before she had to give in and look. (He knew that, it was what he counted on.)

This time, one of the rare times, she was thankfully alone.

Earlier, he'd said something about learning the hard way that he couldn't trust her, as he tied her to a chair. (Truly, she would have preferred one of the cells at that point.)

She cautiously scanned the room, unsure if she was worried or relieved that all the holding cells were empty. Had he killed the other people who'd been here?

She yanked ineffectually at her wrists, wincing when the rope pulled tighter at the wounds underneath fresh bandages. She'd tried to work her way free for hours, even when the skin wore down and she was bleeding. Zoom – Garrick – Hunter Zolomon had come back when she'd been in the middle of trying to free herself. She'd expected a harsh punishment for it, but he'd merely shaken his head in disappointment and run white bandages around her wrists.

It had struck her as a bizarre parody that he'd take such care with her injuries when he was planning on killing her anyways.

"There's no reason for you to needlessly suffer," he'd tsked, using part of a clean bandage to wipe away the tears that had come unbidden at the pain of him wrapping her wrists.

No, she supposed he'd never been into the physical aspects of torture as much as he'd relished its mental and emotional counterparts. (Or maybe it was more because _he_ wasn't inflicting the pain this time around, so he had less reason to enjoy it.)

That had been hours ago, though. Half a day, maybe? There was no clock in here, no windows, no way to tell the passage of time. She didn't know where he'd gone, but she had her guesses. She'd passed out from exhaustion while still tied to the damn chair.

Based on the pain in her neck as she twisted it, she guessed it had been 4 or 5 hours. She wasn't young enough she could brush that off instantly anymore, but she wasn't old enough that a half hour of sleeping in an uncomfortable position would have caused it. She wanted desperately to massage the knots in her neck and had to settle for rolling it.

He was coming back, right?

How ironic that after wishing for an entire day that he'd simply leave her alone, she now prayed he'd return. Being killed by him would be infinitely better than dying from dehydration while trapped here. It could be a torturous way to go and would take days.

(What if that was his plan?)

She shut her eyes again and listened to the constant humming in the background. If she concentrated enough, she could feel a subtle vibration coming up through the floor from whatever machinery was producing the hum. She focused on the sensation to try and calm herself.

She had things she wanted to do with her life. She'd accomplished a few major ones – she'd fallen in love (and lost him). She'd built up a career. She'd found her place on their team and formed friendships she hoped would last a lifetime. But she wanted more than that. She wanted her _own_ family one day. She wanted another chance to find a partner, to fall in love, and have a child of her own.

She'd never get _any_ of that if she let him kill her. There was nothing she could do, though. She'd studied this room for hours and there was nothing in it that could help free her. Even if she could get out of the chair, the door was padlocked from the outside.

As if he'd planned it to coincide with her thoughts, she heard the click of the lock and the door swung open. A rush of relief that he hadn't abandoned her was followed by the most burning hatred she'd ever known. She had no affection left for the man she'd thought had been her friend. Hunter Zolomon had lied to her, used her, betrayed her, and now had some kind of twisted fascination with her that left her sickened.

"Caitlin," he sighed, crossing the room to kneel in front of her, "I'm afraid our time together is coming to an end." He pressed his fingers to the side of her face and she automatically pulled away. "Is that any way to treat your host?" he asked darkly, barely leashed rage coloring his question.

"No," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Hunter."

"Don't call me that!" he yelled, standing up and giving her chair a kick that left her certain she'd go over, but luckily it righted itself before it could fall, since she'd have no way to brace herself.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, though she couldn't keep the scorn out of her tone.

He whirled on her. "Do you want to die faster? Is that it? Because this could go easily if you wanted it to. All you have to do is ask."

"You want me to beg you for a merciful death?" She almost laughed at the absurdity of his suggestion.

"I'm capable of mercy," he said, as his tone calmed. (His mercurial moods, how quickly he could switch from pleasant to engulfed in seething rage, were part of what made him so terrifying.)

"Why do you have to kill me?" she asked, again. She'd asked so many times and he'd never given her an answer, not until now.

"They deserve to hurt," he said, simply, pacing the room in front of her. "All of them, your whole team. They were never _my_ friends, you know? Sure, they pretended, but it was a polite lie. They deserve to lose you. I can't wait to see the looks on their faces when they realize that you're gone. And then I'm going to kill them one by one until Barry's the last one left and he can look over the destruction that was once his _perfect_ life." A slow grin was spreading across his face. "Or maybe…I should save Harrison Wells for last."

"What?" she breathed.

"He's the one who didn't get me what I needed. Even with his daughter as incentive. How incompetent _is_ he, anyways?"

"He's the smartest man I've ever known," she hissed, working into a rage of her own. "And he's worth a hundred of you put together."

Instead of challenging that, Hunter studied her for a minute. "My God. Why didn't I ever see it?" He returned to her side, running a hand over her head. When she instinctively pulled back, he twisted her hair around his hand and gave a sharp tug that had her gasping in pain. "You're in love with him."

"No, I'm not."

"I knew he liked you. I mean, who wouldn't? That's your thing, isn't it?" He incrementally tightened his grip on her hair at the accusation. "Lead every guy on, right? Just like you led me on. I'm surprised you've never tried your games with Barry or Cisco. Or maybe you have and you're better at hiding it than I thought."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," she insisted, breathing a sigh of relief when he let go of her hair and returned to walking circles around the room.

"It's why I took you first, from your little _team_." He sneered the last word. "Because I knew how much it would hurt them to lose you. I've been stringing them along for a while now, letting them think they might get you back. Making them jump through my hoops. It's been quite amusing." He smirked at her, eyes lingering on the rope around her wrists. "Too bad you've missed it, what with being…tied up and all."

"We meant it when we said we'd help you," she told him, fighting to keep her voice even. "We would have given you another chance, too, but you're the one who chose to turn your back on us."

"You were supposed to be on my side," he bit out. "I gave you the option to join me, to help take them down. You said you would and that was a _lie_. You chose them. You _always_ choose them. Dying is _your_ choice, Caitlin."

"No," she snapped, "it's yours. You can blame me all you want, but you're the one abducting people, hurting them." She steeled her resolve, meeting his eyes. "I share no blame for the things you've done."

"You're a terrible friend, Caitlin. You were always out for yourself. Only pretending to care about people until they no longer served your wishes anymore. That's why I'm enjoying this so much." He grabbed another chair from the corner of the room and dragged it over. She cringed at the sound of metal slowly scraping on concrete, but Hunter's expression didn't change – it was as if he didn't even hear it. He turned the chair backwards to sit on while facing her, arms folded on the back of it. "Tell me, and be honest, what's it like knowing you're going to die because of your selfishness? Because of your inability to love anyone except yourself?"

She swallowed heavily and tried to keep her eyes trained on his face. She wasn't going to leave this Earth while showing him her fear. That was exactly what he wanted and her self-control meant it was the one thing – the only thing – she could willingly keep from him.

"I'm not afraid." Her tone was defiant, the words were steady, and she prayed to whatever God might be listening that he wouldn't see the terror in her eyes.

He leaned forward, lowering his head a little to be that much closer to her. "You're a bad liar, too."

"What do you want me to say? Do you want me to beg for my life? To plead with you to spare me? We both know you never will."

"Yeah, but it's fun to hear you try," he said, laughing, almost like he was delighted.

"They're going to kill you," she promised. "Barry. Cisco. Harry. I wish I could be there when they do, to see the look on _your_ face when you know once and for all that you failed. You will never be as great, as powerful, or as fast as Barry Allen."

His face twisted into an ugly, hateful expression and he abruptly stood, walking towards the door. "How do you want to do it this time?"

"What?"

"I said you're running out of time," he called, as he left the room.

No, she swore that wasn't it. But her memory wasn't that great since she'd been taken.

A few minutes later, he returned with a vial and a syringe.

She defiantly refused to ask him what it was.

He registered her silent mutiny with barely concealed joy. "Now, I'm not normally one for explicit torture – hard to believe, I know – but this is a special concoction I've devised for you." He slowly drew the contents of the vial up into the syringe. "Never tested before on human subjects, but a few dozen mice gave their lives to ensure this was quite the painful way to go. If it works well on you, I'll use it on some more of my enemies. Perhaps your _friends_." His last word was bitter, as if he didn't quite believe a 'friend' was something anyone could possibly have.

"Get it over with, already," she said, rolling her eyes, throwing every ounce of energy she had left into her false bravado. "I have no interest or desire to hear your self-important, supervillain speech."

He held the syringe up to the light and tapped it a few times. "I want you to imagine how they'll react when I tell them you died. And how you went. I bet a few will get angry. Others will cry. And the devastation of a select few…" He shot her a malicious smile. " _That_ is what I will truly relish."

For a moment, the image in front of her changed. He was standing there with a knife. Then with a length of rope. Then a gun. Then –

She blinked, wondering if he'd injected her already and she'd missed it, but he was pulling up her sleeve.

"How many times are we going to do this, Caitlin?"

"Do what?"

Instead of answering her, he pushed the needle into her arm and depressed the plunger. She could feel the liquid, some kind of poison, spread through the muscle of her arm. At first it was cold, freezing, and that chill spread through her body outward from the origin point, like ink spreading across the fine lines in a napkin. Her blood felt like it had turned to ice water, and her heart sent it everywhere. She could feel it from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers, down her spine and in her toes. She hadn't been this fully aware of her entire body ever before in her life. Her lungs felt like they were filling with cold liquid, icy to the point of painful, and then everything went numb for a blessed moment.

In that moment, she mourned everything she would never have again. Friends. Family. Love.

He'd stolen everything. Her future. But he would never have her as a partner, and she knew that even if she was dying, it wouldn't be in vain. Her team would avenge her and Hunter Zolomon would die one day and she'd be waiting there for him when he did. Because if he didn't get sent to Hell on his own, she was going to drag him there. And if it didn't exist, she was going to make one for him herself.

That was when the agony hit her.

Fire burned everywhere within her. Wherever there were nerves in her body, they were alight with excruciating pain. She didn't know it was _possible_ to feel this kind of anguish.

She wanted to start screaming, but she couldn't inhale. Her lungs were frozen, unwilling to move, and maybe she'd suffocate first. Maybe that'd be the easiest way to go.

Hunter was staring at her with the vaguest air of disappointment. "I wanted to tell them you died screaming and yet it seems you can't get enough air. I must say, I'm not happy with this first human trial."

Her vision was blurring and fading. The color went first, not that there was much color in the room to begin with, but her shirt dulled from red to pink to gray. The sequoia and sepia tones of the walls and floor of the room that had been her prison were turning to shades of black and white.

So this was how she'd finally get out. _This_ was her escape.

He was still talking, though the volume of his voice was dimming. It sounded like the distance between them was increasing by the second – he was already a million miles away.

"I'm going to tell them you died screaming, anyways," she heard him say, having decided on the lie. "They won't be able to prove me wrong and I'll perfect the formula next time."

She wanted to tell him he hadn't won, that he'd never win, but the pain was all-consuming. It was like nothing she'd ever known, her mind threatening to short-circuit from it, and she knew why people went insane from things like this.

She actually _wanted_ to die so that it would end.

In the last fading moment of consciousness, she saw that he was once again sitting in the chair across from her, studying her with the fascination he'd always reserved for his various experiments.

"We've done this before," he whispered, reaching out to touch a strand of her hair. "And never fear, my darling. We'll do it again."

And then there was nothing.

Caitlin awoke so suddenly, and with such frightening clarity, that she lunged out of bed in an adrenaline-fueled panic. Her heart was racing so fast she was genuinely afraid she'd give herself a heart attack. She grabbed for the wooden headboard, clutching the side of it, and then bit the inside of her lip so the pain would distract her, giving her a few moments to calm herself.

She tasted blood in her mouth. She'd bitten down too hard.

Her well-practiced tricks worked, though, as she'd known they would. Just as they had every time she'd had that nightmare. She was able to get her heartrate under control, slowing down to a much saner rhythm.

Harry didn't show up, which meant she hadn't been screaming. Good.

That must have been the only benefit of the method Hunter had used to kill her this time.

The nightmare was always the same: she was tied up in that room, her own memories blurring into the dreamscape in her mind. In the nightmare, he never released her, like he had in real life. Or maybe he had and then succeeded at capturing her again (like he'd tried and failed to do). It didn't matter either way, because there was never a way out. Except dying.

The cruelest part was no matter how many times she relived it in her mind, she _never_ knew it wasn't real until she woke up.

Her conversations with him differed slightly, but other than that, the only thing that changed significantly was his method of killing her – so far he'd never used the same one twice. (She had no idea how many times it had been, she'd stopped counting after the first ten.)

Though before tonight, he'd never brought up Harry. He'd also never accused her of being in love with him, nor insinuated he'd taken her as a way to punish him. (And it wasn't really Hunter, she knew that, every character in her own dreams was _her_.)

She was too rattled to think about what any of it meant. As always, she just wanted to _forget_.

She checked the time, sighing when she saw that she was up for the day at 2:17 am. She never went back to sleep after one of these episodes because the few times she'd tried, she'd gone through a repeat of it even more horrible than the first time around.

She had a few options. Stay in bed and read, wander the house, or go looking for Harry.

No, the last wasn't really an option. She wasn't going to bother him in the middle of the night.

She decided to walk around the house, which she'd been through many times by now. Even though it was familiar to her after that first night, she still found new things every time she searched. She thought she could spend a year in this place and never fully know it.

She left her room and turned right, pretending not to care that the route would take her past Harry's room – their old room – and stopped short when she saw the door was open and a light was on. Why was he up so late? Or rather, early?

She hesitantly leaned around the doorframe, about to ask that very question, but the room was empty.

She frowned, turning in a circle in the hallway, wondering where he might be. She suspected he didn't sleep too much, based on how tired he looked lately. But that begged the question, what did he _do_ when he was awake in the middle of the night?

Knowing him, she guessed it was work. He _always_ seemed to have work to do, no matter how much or how little time he spent at S.T.A.R. Labs. (Couldn't he ever take a break? Had she forced him to do that before?)

Things had been much better since their talk. He'd been more open with her and seemed to be coping with stress in a healthier way. He even started coming to her first, before she could try and coerce him into talking. She was relieved he'd taken what she'd said to heart – that he could rely on her as much as she relied on him. He was definitely happier now, which meant so was she, and things had vastly improved.

Their work situation was better, too – the questions from the others had stopped. She knew Harry must have talked to them, he must have conveyed her fears about not measuring up, and she was glad he'd done it because she never would have.

Thankfully, there was no awkwardness between her and the team, after. They simply gave her more space than they had before, yet were also still willing to talk about the timeline differences. Only now, they waited for _her_ to bring up the topics she was comfortable with instead of bombarding her with inquiries about her timeline and what her future plans were in this one.

Her and Harry's tentative agreement to live together as friends was going much better than she'd thought it would. Part of her had wondered, at first, if it'd be difficult to spend that much time with one person – work and home. She wasn't sure how they'd done it before.

After a couple weeks, though, she could quite clearly see how it was not only possible, but better than when she'd lived alone. Not only did she no longer feel the loneliness that had permeated her life in her own timeline, but it was _fun_ here. She enjoyed talking to him, working with him, laughing with him – he made her laugh sometimes to the point that she thought she might cry.

She felt closer to him by the day, feelings that she suspected were from the other timeline slowly mixing with her own growing affection for him. It probably wouldn't be long before they were interchangeable, indistinguishable to the point that she wouldn't know where some started and the others began.

He was slowly becoming her best friend.

She hadn't yet told him about any of her growing feelings. She didn't want to give him false hope when she had no memories of this world…and never might. What if she never loved him as more than a friend? (What if she wasn't capable of loving _anyone_ that way?)

He deserved more – he deserved someone who loved him the way _he_ loved _her_. And if she could never give him that, she didn't want him to feel as if he had to spend his life with her out of obligation. Because that was the kind of thing Harrison Wells would do – stay with her because she needed him, and in the process, give up his own chance at mutual love and happiness with anyone else.

She'd made up her mind that very first week – after everything he'd done for her and all that he'd given her, his happiness was her priority. So if it came down to one of them having to sacrifice for the other, she would do it first, before he could.

Even if it meant leaving one day.

While thinking, she'd done a lap around the house, down the hall past his room, through the foyer, past the main living room, and ending up in the kitchen by going the long way.

She stopped when she saw him there, sitting with his laptop at the center island. (Who was she kidding, she would have kept walking until she found him.)

"Can't sleep?" she asked, as she went to get herself some water.

"I never sleep that well," he sighed, taking off his glasses to rub his temples. "Not without you."

She'd had no idea. That must have been part of the reason he'd looked so exhausted lately.

"You should have told me," she scolded, softly.

"Not your fault. And I didn't see the point. You don't need anything extra to –"

"Worry about?" she interrupted, unhappily. "You told me you were going to talk to me."

"I'm talking to you now."

She sighed at his loophole, settling onto the barstool next to him. "There are far better places to work in this house."

"I like it in the kitchen. Close proximity to snacks."

"I'm not sure if you've heard." She picked up the bag of chips sitting next to him and shook it a little. "There are these newfangled concepts – they're called 'picking things up' and 'walking to another room'."

He smiled at her, a little. "But the crumbs…"

"That's what cleaning's for, Harry."

"Right," he agreed, glancing at her sideways. "You should get on that."

"Just what I want to do at…" she checked the stove, "2:24 in the morning."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head slightly, knowing he'd wait until she was ready.

"Fair enough. I should get to bed. It's much too late to get any productive work done."

"You're probably fine. I heard the elderly need less sleep."

He kicked her barstool with his foot and she clung to the counter so she wouldn't tip. "Hey!"

"Yeah, well, that's what you get," he said, as he started closing applications on his laptop, rhythmically tapping his stylus against the counter as he did so. She had a sudden flash of someone else.

"Some of the things you do, they sometimes remind me of…"

"What?"

She looked down at her glass of water. "Never mind. I shouldn't say it."

"Come on, you have to tell me, it's practically a rule we have."

"You're making that up. No two people would ever be crazy enough to make a rule that they have to tell each other everything that crosses their mind."

"We _might_ be that crazy," he challenged, and when she sent him a disbelieving look, he relented. "Okay, fine, we're not. I want to know, though." When she didn't reply, he announced, "I will harass you forever."

"Is that supposed to be any different than usual?"

He kept tapping his stylus on the counter, not breaking eye contact.

"Alright," she conceded. "I know you guys knew HR, too, from when we were talking about the timelines –"

"This can't be going where I think it's going," he interrupted, voice low.

"I guess that answers my next question about whether he was the same here as he was in my time," she said, sheepishly.

"HR," he said, tone eerily calm. "I remind you of _HR_."

"Only in some small ways," she tried to explain. "And they're few and far between…"

"There's no backtracking from this." He glared at her as he got up and went over to the cabinets along the wall behind her. There was a built-in desk there that she'd never seen him use and he started rummaging around in its drawers.

"It wasn't an insult," she said, biting her lip, worried she might have genuinely offended him. "I happen to like HR. He's funny and sweet and –" She stopped when she realized her explanation might be having the opposite of its intended effect.

"No, by all means, keep talking about how wonderful he is."

"Harry…"

"Don't mind me," he said, not even looking over at her, "I'm just searching for the emergency divorce papers I have drawn up for situations such as these." He turned to point at her accusingly. "This is definitely a terminable offense."

She laughed slightly as her tension dissolved. "Do you commit to all your jokes like this?"

"Who said I'm joking?" But he'd dropped the serious tone and his eyes gave him away.

"Reason for dissolution of marriage: my wife compared me to HR Wells. Yeah, the judge would love that."

"Oh, we'd have to bring HR to court with us. Thirty seconds of him talking and any judge would instantly rule in my favor."

"I think you're being a little hard on the guy. You're even friends in my time. He has some kind of odd, almost idol-worship for you. Which is a little off-putting to witness –"

"Hey, that's practically his only good quality!" Harry exclaimed, as he returned to sit next to her. "And you're right, we're more or less friends here. Well, as much as I can tolerate him. Sometimes I have to kick him out to reclaim my sanity."

She smiled down at the counter, immensely glad he hadn't left to go to bed, like she'd been afraid he might. "Why did you go searching for a replacement for yourself, here, if you never moved back to Earth-2?"

"Jesse and I decided to move here in the summer of 2016, but it took a lot of visits to wrap up all the details of our previous lives and to ensure S.T.A.R. Labs on Earth-2 would continue running smoothly. I traveled back and forth a lot, and after a couple times where I got delayed returning, Barry said he was worried about going too long without my brilliance to help guide him."

She leaned forward, propping her elbows on the counter and resting her head on her hands to look at him. "Are you _sure_ that's what he said?"

"It was the gist," Harry insisted. "So we got HR, thinking he was basically me. And the lies fell apart pretty quickly. I'm assuming it was the same for you guys, too?"

"Yeah, the only difference is HR initially came here later on, in the fall of 2016, because you decided to move back to Earth-2."

"Permanently," he murmured. "I'll never understand that decision."

"I didn't like it much either," she said, face falling at the memory. She hadn't wanted him to leave; it had been painful, actually, to know that there wasn't enough on this Earth to make him want to stay. But she'd understood his decision. "HR wasn't a genius, not like you –"

"Few are," he smirked.

"Sometimes I think none are," she said, absently, then hastily went on. "He still became invaluable to us. You ended up coming back when we needed your help later on. When things changed," she gestured around them, vaguely referring to the timeline, "you'd been back for maybe six months. You never openly said that your return to us was permanent, always hedging around the subject of going back to Earth-2, but I was just letting myself accept the idea you might stay."

"So in your timeline I returned to our team to 'help', huh?" He put the word in air quotes. "I guess it's as believable a story as any."

She knew exactly what he was insinuating. "Please. In my timeline, you did not come back for me."

"Guess you'll never have any way of knowing."

"Unless the timeline changes back, somehow," she reminded him, and he didn't reply to that, merely turning back to his laptop to shut it off. "I didn't mean –"

"I know," he said, cutting her off. "What happened to HR after I came back?"

"He stuck around for a while, then one day he sat us all down and announced he had to explore the multi-verse to go find a…what did he call it…"

Harry huffed out a laugh. "A new destiny?"

"Yes, exactly!" she said, delighted that it had been the same here. "He had an entire speech prepared for us. I'm not sure what Earth he's on right now, but he still visits a lot. Always without warning so that you can't forbid him from coming." She couldn't help smiling. "It's not like any of us mind."

"I've noticed," he said, dryly, as he finally closed his laptop and then turned to fully face her. "There seems to be no version of Harrison Wells that you people don't love. I suppose I can't blame any of you, we all know how endearing I am. Nor can I blame HR for being blessed with the same genes as me. He's essentially me if my life took another path."

She did have an affinity for HR, but she could _not_ agree with that assessment. "He is most definitely not you. There was a reason, that first night, that I didn't want you to be him."

"Oh come on now, you wouldn't want to be married to HR?" His tone was serious, but his eyes were laughing. "Think of the adventures you two could have together."

"I like _our_ adventures, thank you very much."

"You do, hmm?"

She could feel herself blushing at his tone. "Our team! Well, I mean, you too. You're part of the team, obviously. So um, that's what I meant. Obviously."

"You already said 'obviously'," he whispered, conspiratorially.

"Harry, you know what I –"

He was already laughing. "You can stop, Snow. I'm mostly giving you a hard time."

"One of your favorite pastimes."

"You know it."

The fridge kicked on, and upon hearing the mechanical humming, she was suddenly back in that room with Hunter Zolomon. Ice water flooded her veins, just like in her nightmare. (She could _feel_ it.) Her mirth vanished and everything came back, in an instant.

She shut her eyes, trying to block it out. But she could _never_ block it out.

"What is it?" Harry asked, sensing how abruptly the mood had shifted.

She wanted to talk to him, she did. But she didn't know where to begin.

She got up, walking across the kitchen to the sink near the window, and looked outside. There was no moonlight at all. It was pitch black out there, as dark as it'd been when she died in her nightmare.

When she turned back to face Harry, he was still sitting at the island. Watching her patiently, if worriedly. Giving her space.

She realized with jarring certainty that she didn't _want_ space. She didn't even want to speak right then. She only wanted…

"I know you don't – that you've been trying not to…" _touch me_. She inhaled, started again. "It'd be okay if… If you…" She faltered once more, feeling the self-doubt overwhelm her. She wasn't sure how to ask him – what right did she have?

Besides, she didn't need him. She didn't need _anyone_. She was strong enough – she'd done this before.

(She'd been doing this alone for a long time.)

She turned away from him, gripping the counter. She leaned over it slightly, pulling in on herself. Part of her wanted to give up, to stop trying and go back to her room and lie on the bed and forget.

After she'd already told him so much… Why were _these_ the words she couldn't say?

She started crying, silently, and that was when she felt him step up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, whispering that it was okay, that he knew how she felt and she didn't have to hide from him. And that if she did, he would find her.

She realized, in that moment, that he knew the answer to a question she hadn't been able to ask.

 _He_ was her answer.

It was all the permission she needed, turning around in his arms and pressing her face against his shirt as she cried. She wasn't even sure _why_ she was crying. Maybe there were too many reasons to list. Not just tonight's nightmare, but every one she'd had for the past year and a half. Her entire life changing. Everything and nothing and him, being there with her, when his support, his _love_ for her, wasn't something she'd earned – not in this timeline.

(Sometimes she felt like she'd stolen another person's life and it wasn't one she deserved.)

It wasn't until he was holding her that she realized how long it had been since anyone offered that kind of comfort – since she'd _allowed_ herself to accept it. She'd had no idea how badly she needed it. And now that she had it, she didn't know how she was ever going to let it go.

She didn't have it in her to stand anymore, and he knew it, pulling her down to the floor with him.

He sat with his back against the fridge and she curled up against him. They stayed like that for five minutes, maybe ten, as her tears came to a slow and gradual end. She didn't pull away, not even when she stopped crying.

"I've missed you," he whispered, as her breathing evened out.

She instinctively knew what he meant – being this close to her, being allowed to touch her.

She knew that she'd needed this, too; she just hadn't consciously realized it.

"I can't do it by myself anymore," she finally told him. "I don't want to. I'm sick of it, Harry. And I'm tired." She felt like crying again. "I'm so _tired_."

"You don't have to do it yourself," he murmured, running his hand through her hair. "You're not alone here." He'd said those words to her the first night she remembered waking up in this house.

He didn't ask again, and she knew he wouldn't – anything she told him now would be on her, of her own volition. For some reason, that was what made her start talking. She told him everything. What it felt like in that room (exactly the same as it had in real life). What Hunter had said to her. How he'd wanted her to suffer, but more than that, how he'd wanted everyone _else_ to suffer, too.

She told him that she hadn't wanted to die, that she had too much to live for. That she'd missed too many chances.

She told him that in the end, nothing she wanted mattered; Hunter had killed her anyways.

And she told him that even worse than dying was the all-consuming terror. The kind that stayed with her after the nightmare faded and she couldn't face closing her eyes in the dark again. So every time she just got up for good, whether it was midnight or 8 am.

She didn't realize she was gripping her hands together tightly enough to hurt until he reached his own down to separate hers. When she looked, she saw her fingers had turned white and she flexed them so the feeling would return.

"I didn't go through what you did," he told her, "but knowing what you and Jesse went through…that is _suffering_ for me. Unlike anything I've known before or since. I would have willingly taken either of your places, I would have willingly died, rather than deal with the potential of losing one of you, or both of you." He looked off toward the other end of the dimly lit kitchen, and his words were haunted. "He almost destroyed my life."

Her entire being ached for him, for what he'd gone through. As bad as it had been for her, the alternative of imagining the people she loved being tortured and knowing there was no way she could save them… It would have been worse.

"But he didn't succeed," she reminded him.

He was too lost in the memories to hear her. "Without you, without Jesse, I don't know how I would have…"

 _Gone on_. He didn't have to say it – she heard it clear as day.

"Don't think that," she said, harshly. "Life is terrible sometimes, but we have to keep going. You're one of the strongest people I know. We've _both_ lived through the horror of losing a spouse. And if neither of us had made it through to the other side, we wouldn't be here with each other right now."

"Sounds like you're saying you like being here. With me. Right now."

"I do." God, she did. She didn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. There was no one else she could tell about her nightmares. No one she _wanted_ to tell.

He tightened his hold on her. "I like being here, too," he said, and even if she already knew that, it was reassuring to hear it.

"How many times have we done this?" she asked, and she didn't have to clarify that she meant talking after one of her nightmares.

"Too many." In those words, she heard the weight of every time she'd woken up hurting. The toll her pain took on him.

It had been too many times for her, too, in her own timeline. The difference was she'd never had anyone to turn to before.

Caitlin glanced up at him, and when she spoke, it was both fearful and resigned. "Sometimes I think he'll never leave me."

"Maybe he won't," Harry agreed, reluctantly, and there was a burning intensity in his eyes when he added, "but neither will I."

It was too much to take, hearing that kind of promise. She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead back into his shoulder.

A moment later, she felt him kiss the top of her head. "Your nightmares haven't been as frequent the past few months as they were in the beginning."

"Because here I had you. At home I had…" Her empty apartment. Friends she didn't want to burden. A mother who barely acknowledged she was alive.

"You never talked to _anyone_?" he asked, and the words were upset on her behalf, for what she'd gone through alone.

"Everyone moved on," she said, helplessly. "They were fine after what happened. Even you and Jesse, who'd gone through much more than the others… Neither of you talked about it. It felt like there was something wrong with me that I couldn't get past it. And I didn't want to remind anyone about what they'd gone through. It was easier to just…pretend."

"Don't pretend with me," he ordered. "Not ever."

"No pretending," she promised, quietly, and she felt him sigh with relief.

Truthfully, after tonight, she didn't think she'd ever see the appeal of pretending to be fine again. It was like a burden had lifted, like she could breathe again without the weight of her fear pressing her down. She'd never felt as okay after a nightmare as she did right then, in that kitchen, with him.

Speaking of which… "There are so many comfortable places to sit in this house and we keep ending up on the floor."

"Hey, at least it's heated."

She pressed her hand to it, surprised to find it slightly warm to the touch. She'd never noticed. (Of course, she didn't make a habit of sitting on the floor, either.) "Honestly, you are so spoiled."

"I didn't build it," he protested. "I just bought it." She knew he was referring to his Earth, since technically on this one he'd 'inherited' it and the original version of himself had bought it. She'd never met that man. (God, their life was strange.)

"Still spoiled," she told him.

"And the tile's imported," he added, just to see the look on her face.

She shook her head as she stretched and stood up. (She didn't want to, but she was afraid if she didn't now, she'd be inclined to stay there all night.)

This time around, she was the one to offer him a hand up. "I feel like I should be helping you more," she said, as he clasped her hand. "After all, it can't be easy when you're getting up there in years to –"

He paused, halfway between sitting and standing. "Think carefully about your next words, Snow, lest I pull you right back down."

She obediently kept her mouth shut and gave him a last pull up that he didn't need.

"It's past 3," he said, checking the time. "You should get back to bed and I should…get to bed for the first time tonight."

She hesitated, shifting from foot to foot. "I think I'm going to read or something. Maybe." But not in bed, because she was tired enough that she might fall back to sleep.

He was watching her. "I know what you're doing. And you're not going to do it."

"What?" she tried to feign innocence.

"You're going to bed," he said, as he started toward the bedrooms. "You're exhausted."

She followed after him automatically, both curious and mildly offended. "You can't make me go to bed."

"No, but I can offer to stay with you."

She stopped walking at that, right outside their rooms, and he turned to face her.

"You've never had a second nightmare after talking to me. I'm going to believe that would hold true, even now."

She had to admit the idea of going back to sleep sounded much more appealing than, well, anything else. "If I did have one…could you wake me?"

"No, I'd let you suffer," he said, deadpan, then walked into his room, calling back, "Honestly, the things you say to me sometimes!"

She looked between his doorway and hers further down the hall. As if she hadn't made up her mind the second he'd offered.

She tentatively stepped into his room. Their room. "Okay."

He was checking his phone. "You want to sleep in here?" he asked, looking up at her in surprise. Whether at her choice of room or that she'd agreed to stay with him, she couldn't say.

"This bed is much bigger," she pointed out. "And I tend to get…restless."

"Oh, I know," he said, dryly. "I've had my share of bruises to prove it."

"Really?" She was vaguely horrified.

"No, not really," he laughed (and she wondered if she was ever going to learn he was only serious about half the time). "Luckily for you, Snow, I'm good at self-defense. When you get too unruly, I just give you a sharp kick out of bed and that ends it real quick."

She laughed at the image as she got into the bed. The tiredness hit her with renewed force. It was suddenly a struggle to keep her eyes open.

"Maybe if I'm here…you'll actually sleep better, too?" Her question was hopeful.

He paused while pulling back the comforter on his side. "You don't have to do this for me."

"Why not?" she challenged. "Why can't it be for both of us?"

He regarded her for a long moment. "Alright," he finally said. "I'm okay with that."

"Not like you had a choice," she said, smartly, as the corner of his mouth lifted at her words.

He asked the AI system to turn off the lights and put on the white noise of a fan. She almost made a comment about how they liked to sleep the same way, before realizing he'd probably done it for her. Of course he'd know what she preferred.

The only light in the room was dim, from out in the hallway, but the bedding glowed unnaturally bright. "You weren't lying," she said, as she ran a hand over the orange comforter. "I think I kind of like it."

"I kind of like it, too," he said.

But even in the darkness, she could tell he wasn't looking at the bed.

He was looking at her.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a couple darker chapters, it was time for something lighter. Thank you for the feedback!

 

Caitlin wasn't surprised to find it was well past 10 when she woke up the next morning.

Harry seemed fundamentally opposed to waking her, under any circumstances. She'd learned pretty quickly that if she wanted to be up at a certain time, she had to set an alarm.

He wasn't in bed, either, which also didn't surprise her. (She couldn't remember one day, since she'd found herself in this timeline, that she'd gotten up and he'd still been asleep.)

She glanced at his side of the bed and had the sudden, fervent wish that he'd had a better night's sleep, too. That her presence had helped him, if in some small way.

She wrenched her gaze away from the empty space beside her and ran her hands through her hair, pushing it back. After the nightmare the previous night, she'd been dreading today. The following day was _always_ horrible. Not only the lingering awful memories, but the exhaustion that compounded them and made everything in life seem ten times worse than it was. She usually debated calling in sick, and never did, because her friends were one of the only ways she'd ever found to ease some of her misery when the random memories came back to her during the day.

Like the sudden pain she'd feel in her wrists. Or the sound of Hunter's voice repeating cruel taunts in her mind. Or, the worst, an abrupt flash of the moment he eventually killed her and everything went black.

There was always a heaviness pressing down on her the day after a nightmare.

But today…today she only felt light.

Oh, the memories were still there, but they were overshadowed by what had happened after, finding Harry and talking to him. The comfort she'd found in him. She hadn't expected it, she hadn't asked for it, but he'd known. And he had no problem giving it even though she wasn't…

(She brushed off how that thought ended – she didn't need to drag herself down again when she actually felt normal.)

It was a strange thing to wake up the morning after one of her nightmares and just…be okay. She never knew how much she missed it until the days where that feeling was taken from her.

Grateful tears pricked at her eyes and she hastily swiped at them, getting out of bed and looking around the room in a way she had never allowed herself to do before.

There weren't many places in this house that she avoided, but this bedroom was one of them. She only walked through it to get to the walk-in closet. She never lingered and she certainly never searched for anything.

But that had gone out the window last night, hadn't it? Seeing as she'd slept in here and all.

So maybe it wouldn't hurt if she looked a little. She went over to the bureau, studying the items on it – a silver tray for coins or anything else miscellaneous that they collected during the day (it was currently empty), some jar candles, and a couple figurines and snow globes she'd collected over the years. There was nothing of Harry's – _everything_ had a place with him and he rarely left anything lying around.

She paused when she spotted her jewelry box, partially hidden behind a candle. It was the thing she'd been telling herself she wasn't trying to find. She glanced at the doorway, checking to make sure she was alone, and felt like a criminal even as she did so (which was ridiculous, these were _her_ things).

She lifted the lid and…alright, apparently some of them _weren't_ hers. Or rather, not hers that she remembered. She must have bought some of them, or gotten them as gifts, after the point where the timelines diverged.

She did know that she'd always kept things in this jewelry box that she'd rarely worn. She had a few jewelry items in the other bedroom where she'd been sleeping, but she didn't tend to wear much. She lifted the tray to look in the bottom, where she'd always kept her most valuable items. She swore she wasn't consciously looking for it, but…

There. A small velvet box.

She took it out and opened it, finding what she'd expected to find. Her wedding ring.

Her hands were shaking as she pulled the silver band from the box and held it up to the light. An inscription was there, simple enough – their initials, CS and HW, with an infinity symbol between them.

That was it, nothing else, not even a date.

That inscription had been all that mattered to them.

How could this belong to _her_?

She looked around the room, helplessly – this house, this marriage, this… _life_?

Harry had told her they didn't wear rings for a reason, that neither of them had ever felt it necessary. Maybe she hadn't attached much meaning to the ring, but as she stood there, holding it…she didn't want to let it go.

"Hey, you're up," Harry said, from the doorway, and she shut the jewelry box with an audible snap, spinning around.

"Nothing!" she said, much too loud, clutching the ring in the palm of her left hand. She could practically feel it burning an impression into her skin.

He furrowed his brow. "What?"

"I'm not doing…anything?"

"Is that a question? Are you asking me if you're doing something?" He had both hands pressed against the doorframe, rocking back and forth on his heels as he tried to make sense of the conversation.

"Stop being confusing."

"Yeah, _I'm_ the confusing one here," he said to himself, then shrugged it off. "How are you this morning?"

"I'm okay," she said, knowing what he meant. And her words were laced with gratitude. "Maybe a little better than okay."

His expression eased when he saw her sincerity. "I'm glad."

"What about you? How'd you sleep?"

"Much better than I have in the last few weeks, that's for sure."

"I'm glad," she said, repeating his answer to her. (There really wasn't a better way to explain how she felt.)

"I made breakfast if you want to eat before work."

"Another day where we barely make it in by lunch?" she chastised. "Tell me, Harry, are you _ever_ going to wake me up in the morning?"

He didn't have to think about it. "No."

"How come?"

"You're mean when I wake you up."

That startled a laugh out of her, mostly because of how true it was.

"See this," he held a hand out in front of him, indicating her laughter, "this is how I like to see you in the mornings. It doesn't happen if I wake you."

"Maybe you need to learn better methods of waking me." She realized as soon as she said it that he could take that and run with it – and he was never one to pass up an opportunity.

"Believe me I've tried every trick in the book." There was no missing the insinuation in his tone. "Alas…you're still mean."

"Maybe you need more practice." _Why_ was she still talking? She hastily turned away, examining herself in the mirror, and yup, she looked every bit the disaster she'd suspected she did.

He stepped up behind her and ran a hand down her arm. "You're right," he said into her ear. He met her eyes in the mirror when he added his punchline, "I should probably start dating again."

She spun away from him, but she was laughing. "Good idea, Harry. Where could someone of your years meet singles, hmm?" She tapped her fingers against her mouth in supposed thought. "Perhaps we can find you a weekly bingo game."

"Watch yourself, Snow. You might think you're safe, but I don't discriminate – if I fall for a 75-year-old, so be it. Love knows no age."

The truth of it was, she could easily picture him attending a bingo game and charming every senior citizen there. (And it kind of made her want to see it for real.)

"When I mentioned dating," he went on to explain, "I was thinking about both of us."

"You want me to start dating people?" The wedding ring in her hand still felt unnaturally hot.

He steepled his hands in front of him and waited a beat, silently asking for patience from someone or something. "Not 'people'. _Me_."

His suggestion threw her to the point that she said the first thing that came to mind: "We're married."

"Which is why this is going to be extremely humiliating for me if you say no. If I can't even get a date with my own wife, my ego's going to take a severe hit."

"I didn't know that was possible," she said, archly.

He mulled that over. "You're right. You turning me down would say much more about _you_ than it does me."

"There it is," she tried to joke, but her heart wasn't much in it. Honestly, she'd started panicking the moment he'd suggested it – this was a step forward, a _real_ step forward. She was still settling into living with him, accepting their situation, trying to know him as a friend, and he wanted to take it up a level? She felt the same kind of nervous anxiety she had as a teenager, unsure of what to say or how to act.

"What's the harm in it?" he asked, easily, and she knew he'd not only sensed her hesitation, but understood the reasons for it. "Lots of people go on dates. Married people, single people, friends…it's not a commitment to anything other than spending a few hours together. And if I'm not mistaken, it seems that you like spending time with me."

Her anxiety let up a little and her shoulders relaxed. "You're tolerable…barely."

"Please, Snow, contain yourself." He took a step backwards. "I can't handle this level of enthusiasm."

She grinned at his antics. "That's a _yes_ , Harry. Where do you want to go?" She tried to picture what Harrison Wells might do to impress a woman he liked. Dinners at exclusive restaurants? Expensive foreign trips? Countless, lavish gifts?

None of it seemed to fit, in her mind. Not when he had the uncanny ability to do so much with so little. Like making her favorite breakfast, or solving problems with her at work, or sitting with her on the floor of their kitchen long after midnight.

She glanced down at her still-closed hand. All she could see, in her mind, was the infinity symbol on her ring. Harry's ring, wherever it was, must have the same symbol.

"I have the perfect idea in mind," he was saying, in answer to her question. "Until then, it's a surprise."

"I'm not easily impressed," she warned.

"No kidding. You're lucky someone like me came along."

"So you're saying I _am_ easily impressed?" she asked, sweetly, twisting his words around to the opposite of how he'd intended them. "You might have a point, seeing as I ended up with you…"

"This lack of respect is outrageous." He mock-glared at her. "Maybe I should skip our date and hit up a bingo game, after all."

"I'm kidding," she said, though it wasn't necessary since he already knew it. She leaned back against the bureau behind her and considered the man a few feet away. "Truthfully, you've always impressed me." More than most of the people she'd met in her life. In either timeline.

"I should be saying that about you," he replied, then seemed to remember that they (supposedly) had things to do that day. "Breakfast," he reminded her, heading for the door. "You've made us unforgivably late as it is."

"You didn't wake me!" she cried, volleying the blame back to him.

"And I'm never going to," he yelled, from the hallway.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief that he hadn't noticed what she was doing when he walked in. She didn't need to explain why she'd gone looking for the ring – or rather, she _couldn't_ explain. Because she didn't know why.

She'd had every intention of putting it back in its rightful place…but she didn't.

She was keeping it with her. It _meant_ something. What, exactly, she couldn't say, but she couldn't leave it behind.

Not that her reasoning made her feel like any less of a thief.

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin stopped short.

So short, in fact, that Harry walked right into the back of her, grabbing her shoulders to steady himself.

"What are –" He stopped, noticing the other man a split second after she had. "Oh no," he whispered. "It's like we summoned him forth by mentioning him last night."

HR was standing across the room, talking animatedly with Barry, Wally, and Jesse. Iris and Joe were nearby, ensconced in a discussion of their own. None of them had spotted her and Harry yet.

"If we back out slowly, maybe we can get away," Harry suggested. "He hasn't seen us yet."

"HR!" Caitlin shouted, causing Harry's doppelganger to turn around, clear joy crossing his face when he saw the two of them. It was strangely cheering to see him, another aspect of her timeline that she shared with this one.

"Traitor," Harry muttered, as she patently ignored him.

"Salutations, my fellow Earth-1 friends, it's been forever!" HR spoke with an enthusiasm that Caitlin had always envied because of how naturally it came to him.

"You were here last month," Harry reminded him.

" _Feels_ like forever," HR revised, reaching them in a few strides. "I can tell by your tone how much you've missed me, Harrison."

"Extremely perceptive, as usual, HR."

HR ignored that, pulling Caitlin into a hug that lifted her off her feet and he literally spun her around.

She tried not to think too much about why HR touching her had never bothered her.

 _Could it be because he's another Harrison Wells?_ her mind taunted, anyways.

Harry had managed to get two steps away from them when HR dropped her and grabbed Harry, pulling him into a hug, as well. "Don't think I've forgotten about you."

"I could have only hoped," Harry sighed, though he hugged HR briefly in return.

"You two have gotten a late start today, hmm?" HR gave them a meaningful look. " _Busy_ morning?"

"That path you're going down," Harry warned, "turn right back around."

"Where have you been?" Caitlin asked.

"Earth-57," Wally supplied, before HR could answer her. "For about six months now. From the way HR tells it, he's made quite a name for himself there."

"Please, Wallace," HR said, disingenuously modest in a way that reminded Caitlin of Harry. "They love me wherever I go. Earth-57 just happens to love me more than most."

"I've missed you," Caitlin admitted, feeling a sudden wave of sentimentality wash over her (and she was aghast at herself – was she going to _cry_?).

"As I've missed you," he said, studying her critically. "Are you recovering from an illness? Or are you sick right now? You don't look as well as I'm used to seeing. Do you have a fever?" He pressed his hands to either side of her face and then kissed her forehead, checking for a temperature, and she couldn't help laughing at how ridiculous he was.

"Oh. My. God." Harry crossed his arms, staring at them, and when Caitlin saw the perfect mix of exasperation and disbelief on his face, she only laughed harder.

"You don't feel hot to me," HR announced, then yelled over his shoulder to the room: "She doesn't have a fever!"

"Uh…great?" Barry asked, confused.

"I'm not sick, HR," she assured him.

"They filled me in on what happened with the timelines," HR said, apologetically. "If there's any way I can help, let me know."

"Thank you," she murmured, appreciative of his concern.

"I can't believe the Legends team might take so long to get here," he continued. "Where's their sense of urgency?"

Cisco had gotten a message to them a couple weeks earlier, and their reply hadn't been promising. The team had told Cisco they needed to talk, but due to 'unforeseen circumstances' they couldn't get to Central City for some time. The short of it was, they'd told Cisco that he and Team Flash had to wait.

"They said it'd take them between 'one and three months' to get here," Harry confirmed to HR, paraphrasing the message they'd gotten from Sara Lance a couple weeks back. "Ironic, isn't it, that a team who can _travel anywhere in time_ would take that long to visit us."

"Their rules on time travel seem to change every week," Wally pointed out, frustrated.

"Conveniently enough," Iris muttered, in agreement with both her brother's and Harry's discontent.

HR had quickly lost interest in the Legends team, though, and was refocused on Caitlin. "I'm worried about you. If you're not sick, you must be exhausted from…" He didn't have to finish the sentence; they both knew how it ended (with the changing of the timelines). He turned to Harry, mildly accusing. "Are you not taking care of this…this precious jewel that –"

"I'm fine, HR," she interrupted, recognizing that his words came from a place of genuine caring and that he wasn't trying to be insulting. "You're right in guessing that I'm tired."

She knew exactly what HR saw when he looked at her – the dark circles under her eyes that she'd tried to hide with concealer that morning, but absently rubbing at them had probably caused some of the make-up to wear away. She'd definitely had the best night's sleep since she'd found herself in this timeline, but one night couldn't entirely make up for a few weeks of terrible sleep.

Jesse wasn't quite so forgiving as Caitlin. "HR, it's not polite to tell people they don't look well."

"Right, I forgot your Earth doesn't value honesty the way Earth-57 does. It's always an adjustment going back and forth. I have to remember that white lies are preferred here." He graced Jesse with a smile. "Thank you for reminding me. And you're looking lovely today, as usual."

"Thank you – wait," she frowned at him, unsure what to make of his compliment.

"You look fantastic, Jess," Wally promised, "as always."

"Thanks," Jesse said, glowing from the inside out.

"I love young love!" HR declared, successfully embarrassing both of them. "Who doesn't love young love? Especially when it's my almost-daughter who's so happy." He put his arm around Jesse and pulled her into his side. Despite the younger woman's huff of annoyance, Caitlin could tell she was mostly pleased at the sentiment.

Harry was watching them with something like approval in his eyes. And Caitlin knew, then, why he'd come to accept HR – it was because HR loved Jesse, and her, and…all of them, really.

Anyone who cared about them, who would protect them by any means possible, was okay in Harry's book. That was the way it had always been in her own time and she instinctively knew the same was true here.

As if reading her thoughts, Harry looked over and met her eyes. An understanding passed between them and he shook his head slightly, as if he couldn't believe his own feelings on the matter. She smiled in return, telling him she knew what he was thinking. And it was okay.

It was okay to care about people you once thought you'd never care about.

HR was casting impatient glances toward the entrance every ten seconds. "What is taking him so long?" he lamented. Since Cisco was their only team member conspicuously absent, Caitlin put two and two together.

So did Harry. "What'd you make him do now? Not that I mind; he could stand to do some actual work around here."

"Nothing taxing," HR promised, going over to the entryway and yelling into the hall, "Francisco! Hurry up, we're waiting on you!" He turned back to find everyone watching him curiously. "Just wait. You're gonna _love_ this."

"That usually doesn't bode well," Harry noted.

"This time is different than…every other time. You'll see."

That was when Cisco staggered into the room, stumbling under the weight of a huge cardboard box he was carrying. He dropped it near the front desk and then leaned against the wall to catch his breath before zeroing his gaze on HR. "Why didn't you tell me that weighed like a hundred pounds?" he panted. "What did you bring with you from Earth-57? _Bricks_?"

HR's eyes had lit up at Cisco's entrance (though when _didn't_ HR light up?). "It's something much better."

"Since when am I the bellhop of S.T.A.R. Labs?" Cisco complained. "I have far more important things to do than to act as your personal assistant, HR."

"Name one," Harry fired off, in challenge.

"Uh…my mind is too full of tasks to pick only one."

"Mmhmm," Harry said, not buying it.

HR grabbed a travel mug from the desk, waving it at Cisco. "You know that I didn't want to spill my coffee."

Cisco scowled at him. "I don't exist to serve you. Remember that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, how rude of me." HR pulled out a billfold and retrieved what, upon quick glance, looked like a $20 bill. Except it was tinged red, not green.

He gave it to Cisco who held it up in disappointment. "What is this? Fake money?"

"No that's Earth-57 currency. $15 to be precise. I can't tell you what it's worth here because exchange rates are…well…non-existent between realities."

"What am I supposed to with a $15 bill from another Earth? This is useless to me!"

"Come visit me on Earth-57 and you can spend it to your heart's content. That will get you at _least_ half a meal at a restaurant." He reconsidered. "Maybe a quarter. Economy isn't doing that well."

"I hate you," Cisco declared, pocketing the money. He gave the box near his feet a slight kick. "When's the big reveal? We're dying of curiosity."

HR looked down at the box, sealed with packing tape, and before he could ask, Wally tossed him a pocket knife. "Always resourceful, Wallace. You'll make a good almost-son-in-law to me when you marry my almost-daughter."

"Whoa, hit the brakes," Jesse said, quickly.

"Sorry, that's the Earth-57 truthfulness coming out again," HR said, innocently, though he sent a sly glance to Caitlin which informed her he hadn't said it by accident (and maybe he never said _anything_ by accident, despite his insistence to the contrary).

HR cut the tape on the box and flipped it open. Caitlin craned her neck to see past the main desk – the box was filled with books.

"Straight from my publishing company." HR grabbed a towering stack and promptly shoved them at Cisco who had no choice but to take them so they wouldn't fall at his feet. "Pass those around would you?"

Cisco heaved a long suffering sigh, but dutifully started passing out copies of the book to everyone nearby. Caitlin accepted hers, studying the bold white letters on a dark red background.

" _Attack of the Dominators_ , by HR Wells," Wally slowly read, somehow infusing the title _and_ author with enough skepticism that Harry looked like he was going to laugh, which caused Caitlin to grasp his sleeve in warning.

"Be nice," she hissed.

"Please, Snow, when am I _ever_ not –"

"Save it," she interrupted and he wisely said nothing more, though he was inwardly laughing. She could tell.

"Think fast, Harry," Cisco called, (which was more warning than Harry ever gave _her_ when he was throwing things her way), but his throw of the book went wide, heading straight for Caitlin. She sidestepped in reflex, though she needn't have bothered, since Harry caught it easily.

"What the hell kind of throw was that?" Caitlin demanded.

"Sorry guys," Cisco apologized. "My arms are shaky from carrying that super heavy box."

"You need to work out more, or…something," Joe admonished, causing the two of them to start bickering back and forth while the others started reading the novel's summary and flipping through pages, trying to get a feel for it.

Harry retreated to the couch and Caitlin followed, taking a seat next to him; she didn't want to miss _any_ of his commentary on what was about to unfold.

Jesse was the first to find words. "This dedication sure is something, HR."

Cisco flipped to it and then pressed a hand to his temple. " _This book is dedicated to myself_ …" he read, shooting HR a look (the other man was mouthing along), "… _without whom none of my fantastic adventures would have been possible_." Cisco's gaze moved over to her and Harry on the couch. "Sounds like a dedication Harry would come up with if he wrote a book."

"Great minds, Cisco!" HR flashed a grin at Harry. "Am I right?"

"I'm not so egocentric that I'd dedicate a book to myself," Harry said, exasperated. He was met with more than a few looks of skepticism. "I'm not! Though, you know what, now I want to because of the clear lack of respect I'm seeing in this room right now. None of you deserve a dedication from me."

"Too bad you missed the whole alien invasion," Joe directed that at Harry. "It was a hell of a time."

"You weren't here for it in this timeline, either?" Caitlin asked, in aside.

"No, I was visiting Earth-2 at the time," he told her, then added, much louder, "And it's too bad I wasn't here because I would have ended things much faster."

That was met with plenty of general heckling from everyone, but it was Barry who directly called him out: "I love how you always make that assertion when there is literally no way to prove it."

Harry seemed entirely unaffected by his team's disbelief. "It doesn't need proof."

"Yeah, you're not egocentric," Caitlin whispered, as he elbowed her in the arm.

"Who else should I have dedicated my novel to?" HR was asking Cisco, as if he genuinely couldn't think of _any other_ _person_.

"Maybe some of the people who _actually_ helped figure out how to fend off the attack?" Cisco prodded. When HR stared at him blankly, Cisco gestured wildly around. "Like this team?"

"I see the problem," HR began, "it's that you're mistaken about the nature of my story. It's not non-fiction, it's a dramatic fictional interpretation of real events. And let's be honest, some of you weren't that instrumental –"

"And you _were_?" Cisco couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I like to think my endless optimism and boundless enthusiasm greatly contributed to this planet's ability to fend off the alien attack."

"I don't even remember you being there, HR," Barry said, doubtfully.

"I was in the background a lot, silently cheering everyone on," HR informed him. "Might I add, it was incredibly remiss of that ARGUS agent to discuss everything with me there."

"Yeah, that was Lyla's fault," Joe agreed. "I mean, you were literally taking notes as she talked about the 'top-secret' alien invasion."

"She'd never met me, nor did she have any idea who I was," HR said, somewhat gleefully. "Bless the lax security on your planet." He looked around, critically. "Though it made it more clear to me why you have as many issues as you do."

"Not anymore," Harry said, firmly. "Not since someone _competent_ has been in charge."

"I take offense," Cisco said. "I was going to upgrade the security. I just…hadn't gotten around to it."

"For _two years_?" Harry sighed.

"We were busy!"

"And we're not now?"

"Uh, it seems like much less has been going on lately than before."

"Because I do so much," Harry said, like Cisco was making his point for him and couldn't see it.

"No," Cisco was saying, as he shook his head. "I don't think that's it."

"I have an idea," Harry announced. "I'll ship you off to Earth-2 and the rest of us can stay here enjoying a well-deserved break from you."

"I liked Earth-2," Cisco said, defensively. "In fact, I might enjoy a vacation there – I could take over your S.T.A.R. Labs."

Harry laughed, derisively. "I'll keep that in mind if I ever have the desire to watch it go bankrupt."

"Gentlemen, please," HR said, stepping into their line of sight. "This isn't productive in the least. Let's get back to what's important – me and my best-selling novel."

"I'm glad you signed them for us," Iris remarked.

"It increases their value. Remember, I'm giving these to you for _free_! A _New London Times_ best-seller for 3 weeks now – I didn't say anything last time I was here because I knew the only better gift than receiving my novel would be if you were _surprised_ by receiving my novel."

"It must be a hit if it's a best-seller overseas, too," Wally remarked. He'd settled into one of the armchairs and Jesse perched on the edge of it, her feet in his lap.

It took HR a moment to realize Wally was referring to the newspaper he'd mentioned. "New London is the capital city of the state of New London." When no one understood him, he explained, "Here it's called New York."

Caitlin thought about asking more, but the look on Cisco's face had her reconsidering – she'd give him a break this time and ask HR more about the geo-political history of Earth-57 later.

"Have they never heard of e-books?" Jesse asked, unimpressed.

"They have and I'll be sending everyone digital copies," HR assured. "But I knew you'd all want a physical copy for your homes. Something to hold when you're missing me."

"You know us so well," Harry said, under his breath.

"I'll put it right on my nightstand," Iris promised.

"Ooh," he said, as an idea struck him and he set a copy of the book upright on a desk so that the back faced them – it had an image of HR that took up almost the whole back cover. "If you place it like this, it'll be like I'm watching over you. Always."

"I feel safer already," Iris beamed at him, as Barry frowned at her in disapproval.

"It could remind you all of me, too," Harry said, as if the idea weren't half-bad.

"HR _and_ you." Cisco was mildly horrified. "That's two strikes against it already."

Besides Joe, Jesse was the only one of them currently skimming parts of the book. "A 'fictional interpretation of real events', you say?" She'd repeated HR's description of the novel. "More like a nearly exact play-by-play of what happened with slightly different versions of our names."

HR waved her off. "Semantics."

"To be fair," Wally told his girlfriend, "he added you and your father into the story. That's a slight difference."

"Yes, thank you, Wallace!" HR exclaimed. "It's good to see someone gets it."

"I like my name in the story," Wally added. " _Ace_. It feels like I'm a gangster or something…it just sounds cool."

"You _are_ cool," Jesse grinned at him, sliding off the edge of the chair to sit in his lap. Caitlin smiled in their direction, as charmed by their easy interaction as HR had been.

Iris had already figured out how HR had named the characters – for the most part, he'd made it fairly obvious. "I'm Rose, right?"

"Yes my dear." He bowed and kissed her hand. "And dare I say, by any other name, you are just as sweet."

"Stop trying to steal my girlfriend," Barry ordered.

"What gestures have you made lately?" Iris challenged, teasing in her question. "HR wrote me into a novel. A _best-selling_ novel."

"On another Earth," Barry sulked. "It barely counts."

"Oh," HR winked at Iris, "it counts."

"I have to admit, I'm surprised," Joe said, and Caitlin had almost forgotten he was there, since he'd been silent so long. He was sitting at the main desk, reading the novel, and looked to be halfway through the first chapter already. "It's really pulling me in."

"Ha!" HR clapped him on the shoulder. "Thank you, Joe. You play a pivotal role in helping to gather all the teams to help fight the aliens. Or should I say, Detective John East has a pivotal role."

"It's fantastic." Joe sounded like he couldn't believe what he was saying. He promptly tuned out of their conversation and went back to reading.

Iris was skimming pages in the middle chapters. "It seems that you've made yourself the hero, HR."

"Obviously." Cisco was unsurprised. "He dedicated it to himself; what else would you expect?"

HR sent a guilty glance toward Harry. "Unfortunately, since I'm the protagonist, that necessitated…"

"Oh man!" Cisco exclaimed, stopping in the middle of one of the early chapters, then finding Harry's eyes across the room. "You die in chapter 5!"

Harry was distinctly unamused as he slowly turned to pin HR with a threatening gaze. "You killed me off?"

HR set his shoulders, apparently deciding to own it. "Not you, your _character_. And you had to go. The narrative demanded it! At least you made it a significant ways into the story –"

Harry flipped to the table of contents and held it up for HR to see, in case he'd forgotten. "There are _sixty-seven_ chapters."

"Take heart, Harrison," HR told him, somberly. "Just as in acting, there are no small parts in fiction. Your role, while more minor –"

"Than literally _everyone_ else's," Cisco needled.

HR quelled him with a look, before finishing, "– allowed me to set into motion a series of events that eventually led to the Dominators being vanquished. After your untimely death, I had to take your place on the team, leading to my brilliant ideas later on that helped defeat the aliens."

Barry had also skipped to the end and he looked suspiciously like he was trying to hold back laughter. Then he, too, glanced uneasily at Harry over on the couch. "You might want to avoid the last few chapters altogether…"

That was all the incentive Harry needed to turn to them, along with everyone else. It was immediately clear what the speedster was referring to.

"You didn't." Harry had lowered his voice to an almost frightening level.

HR slowly took a few steps back. "It's just fiction, Harrison."

"You married my _wife._ "

"No, not your wife, a character based on your wife. In my defense, you were dead. _Long_ dead by that point." HR held up a copy of his book like a shield and then quickly opened it. "And _her_ character came onto _mine_. I'll refer you to chapter 37 –"

Harry grit his teeth. "I'm not going to read a scene where Caitlin starts hitting on you."

"More like 'throws herself at me' but I understand your reluctance."

"And these are _fictional_ characters," Barry emphasized, trying to console him a little. "It's not Caitlin throwing herself at HR, it's…Lin throwing herself at HG."

Jesse sent him a thumbs up. "Super creative with the names, HR."

"I'm not even going to get into how appalling it is that you named me _Sonny_ ," Harry griped. "That might be worse than you killing me. Or you marrying Caitlin." His eyes took on a new light. "Tell you what, you can have her if you change my name for the second printing."

Caitlin gave him a shove, but there was no heat behind it, not when everything he said made her laugh.

"The name 'Sonny' comes from Harri _son_ ," HR explained, like they hadn't been able to figure it out on their own.

"I think you should have a more open mind about this, Harry," Cisco admonished, his enjoyment of the book apparently proportional to how much it annoyed their boss. "I'm beginning to think this might be one of the best novels I read all year."

When the others began agreeing with Cisco, Harry crossed his arms and slid further down on the couch. "I've had it with all of you," he declared, not entirely able to keep the amusement out of his voice, though he valiantly tried. "New idea, forget sending Cisco away. _I'll_ move back to Earth-2."

"Don't make promises you're not going to keep," Cisco shot back.

Caitlin laughed, but part of her _did_ wonder if Harry ever truly missed his own Earth…if he'd ever considered moving back there. Unconsciously, she leaned closer to him.

He turned his head to murmur, "You can come with me." Then he said louder, to the others, "But none of the rest of you. I'm going to _actually_ install a locking mechanism on the portal so that I won't be bothered for the rest of my days."

"Come on, Harry," Barry chided. "What would you do without us?"

"He'd be lost," Cisco said, firmly.

"And hello," Jesse raised her hand, "I live here now."

"I'd let you visit occasionally," her father conceded.

"I have no worries," Barry said, confidently. "Caitlin would let us through."

She hesitated, unable to resist (especially since they all seemed to _expect_ that she'd take their side). "Well…"

"Careful, Caitlin," HR cautioned. "You're reminding me of your Earth-57 self."

She sat up straighter, intrigued. "There's a 'me' on Earth-57?"

"This is going to be good," Harry said, in forewarning, which told her that they all knew this story already.

"I'm assuming in your timeline none of this happened?" HR guessed.

"No, you're still traveling around, as far as we knew."

"On Earth-57, I currently run S.T.A.R. Labs – not the science or engineering side of things, that's all your doppelganger," he told Caitlin. "I manage the business side of it."

"Keep going," Jesse said, slowly starting to smile.

"Uh, well…" HR trailed off.

"He's trying to seduce their Caitlin Snow," Barry burst out, unable to contain himself. "To no avail, so far. How's it going lately, HR?"

"Absolutely terrible," HR cheerfully confirmed. "She hates me. Or in her words, she 'barely tolerates' me."

(Caitlin took a moment to marvel at how she'd said the same thing to Harry that morning as a joke.)

"Why are you always so happy when you talk about how she can't stand you?" Iris asked, smiling despite herself.

"Because it means she _feels_ something, Iris!" In his excitement, HR slammed his hands down on the desk Iris was sitting at, causing her to jump. "That something is _passion_ for me."

"Sure about that?" Harry asked, skeptically.

"Persistence is key," HR insisted, and Caitlin blinked at hearing HR repeat something Harry had so often said. "I'm going to get her to make that switch from hatred to love. One day. I think."

Caitlin felt like she was missing a crucial part of the equation. "Where's their original Harrison Wells?"

"He died, but no –" HR said, hurriedly, seeing Caitlin's dismay, "it was a good thing. He was an awful person."

"Apparently, their Harrison Wells embezzled millions from S.T.A.R. Labs," Harry told her. "He took most of the investors' money for himself and put only the bare minimum into projects to keep things afloat. When he was exposed, he fled and died in a plane crash. Oh, and he killed a bunch of people, too, over the years – ones who'd found out what he was doing."

HR was nodding along. "What Harry failed to mention is that _I'm_ the one who figured out what he was doing and exposed him. When I initially showed up on their Earth and explained who I was, Harrison tried to recruit me for some of his schemes – in fact, he set up a backstory for me and vouched that I was his twin brother. Then I learned what he'd done – he apparently thought I was exactly like him – and I turned him in. That's when he went on the run and later died."

"Why didn't you write a book about _that_?" Cisco suggested. "Now there's a story where you're a hero, kind of."

HR was inordinately pleased at that description. "A hero, you say?"

"I said _kind of_ ," Cisco bit out, sharply, but there was more humor in it than not.

"My next novel's in the works," HR promised, tapping his head.

Caitlin tried to picture the bizarro-world version of their life that HR was describing. "Who else works at S.T.A.R. Labs over there?"

"There's Caitlin, Francisco, Martin Stein, and –" He stopped suddenly, not wanting to say who the final person was. The mood of the entire room had changed; no one was quite looking at Caitlin anymore. Except Harry.

And he was the one who told her, quietly, "It's Ronnie."

The name echoed in her ears, like she was in a dream. _Ronnie_? She turned back to HR, seeking answers to so many questions she couldn't voice.

HR took a seat in the empty armchair near her. "He's a fun guy. Brilliant, friendly, we get along quite well. There was no particle accelerator explosion, so he never died."

"There are no meta-humans on Earth-57," Barry explained. "I think we missed mentioning that the first time around."

"And that's partly why my book was such a success," HR added. " _Everything_ in it is fiction to them, including a group of people with superpowers banding together to fight aliens."

Caitlin wouldn't allow her attention to get diverted. "Ronnie and the other version of myself work together? Are they…?"

"No," HR told her, gently. "They dated a long time ago and for whatever reason, it never worked out. He's married to a lovely woman named Eva. He and Caitlin are great friends, though."

She was still lost trying to understand what he was telling her – she'd never given much thought to versions of herself on other Earths in the multi-verse, but in the back of her mind she'd always kind of thought she and Ronnie would be together no matter the Earth. But now…after Harry? She wasn't so sure.

"Snow, what am I always saying," Harry got her attention. "The people on other Earths are _not us_. There are similarities, yes, but we are all different people – as different as I am from Joe, or you are from Iris."

"Or I am from Harry," HR backed him up. "There may be similarities, but in the end, everyone is their own person. After all, Harrison Wells from Earth-2 isn't a supervillain, is he?"

"Now there's a question," Cisco said, thoughtfully. "I think Harry could be a supervillain if he wanted. And we'd probably never know it until he took us out."

"Thank you, Cisco," Harry said, sincerely, apparently proud of that 'compliment'.

Caitlin had the strangest urge to meet this other version of herself. "Is the other Caitlin similar to me?"

HR considered that. "In some ways, yes. She's kind and caring. She has a sharp wit. But she's also far more reserved than you. She's closed herself off from the world, in too many ways. A lot of people think she's cold." The description obviously bothered HR. "She's _not_ cold, though, she just…she doesn't open up easily. Not even to her friends."

Caitlin thought it was pretty self-explanatory why HR couldn't get through to his world's Caitlin. "Is it any wonder why she's reluctant to get close to you? She thinks you're the twin brother of a man she hated, who did some pretty terrible things." Caitlin glanced down at the cover of the book. "And I'm sure she thinks that you wrote this about her."

"I kind of did," he admitted. "In the beginning, that character was you, but then it became…her. She's not a fan of the novel, to say the least."

"How has she not fired you?" Harry asked, legitimately wondering.

"As Harrison's only living relative – there's no Jesse on that Earth – I inherited S.T.A.R. Labs." HR shrugged, truly at a loss. "I didn't expect it, but the backstory he drew up for me was _that_ well-documented. So yes, I suppose I can understand her hesitance to love me. I'll wear her down, though. Getting past these obstacles will make our relationship that much stronger."

"Delusional," Cisco hummed, quietly.

"I think it's romantic," Jesse assured HR.

"Yes, continuously badgering a woman who despises you is 'romantic'," Harry said. "I'm sure you'll change her mind before she issues a restraining order."

HR sent him a wide smile. "Love the optimism, Harry."

When Iris spoke next, it sounded like she was repeating a long-running argument she'd been having with him. "Why are you hung up on Caitlin? There have to be plenty of single women who would date you over there, HR."

"Yeah, but…none of them are her." HR's explanation was for the whole room, but he said it to Harry.

"That…" Harry trailed off, and Caitlin didn't glance over, even though she could feel his eyes on her. "That I can understand."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to thank Tavyn and crazygirlne, both of whom gave me so much encouragement for this chapter. In fact, crazygirlne made me such a wonderful post/picture for this story, which can be seen here: [ATD](http://captainwhogotthecanary.tumblr.com/post/157885152624/fic-writer-appreciation-post). I love both of them and if you haven't checked out their stories, you should get on it now!

   


After HR's visit, the rest of their day at work was uneventful, and those were always Caitlin's favorite kind of days. No one trying to abduct or murder them? Best enjoy it while they could.

HR informed them he'd be staying on their Earth for at least a week. He'd told his colleagues on Earth-57 that he was traveling on business. ("And honestly," he'd added, "they could use a break from me. I don't know if you've noticed, but I can be a little much for people sometimes?" The question had caused Cisco to start choking on his Doritos – luckily, he recovered before Barry had to give him the Heimlich.)

It was going on 5 pm and everyone had taken off long ago. Barry, Iris, and Joe had returned to the jobs they only occasionally remembered having. Jesse and Wally both had a night class to attend, and Cisco and HR had gone to get drinks and catch up. That left her and Harry at S.T.A.R. Labs, and she would have gone home, too, but she'd made dinner plans with Iris and the other woman was picking her up after she finished her latest article; she'd just texted saying she'd be done within the hour.

Caitlin was lying on the couch, reading _Attack of the Dominators_ and laughing at every other line. (She didn't remember the alien invasion being quite that hilarious, but the entire book was an exercise in vague creative license, so it was one of the lesser things to question, really.) Rather than helping her fatigue, lying down only made it worse, so when her eyes kept involuntarily closing, she gave up on the novel. A short nap wouldn't hurt. If anything, it should refresh her before dinner.

She tried not to dwell on when, in her life, taking a nap had become as exciting a prospect as it seemed (were the years catching up to her already?). Besides, she had an excuse! She'd been up for…she checked the time. Six hours. Maybe she was getting a cold or something and it was wearing her down?

She'd just dropped the book on the floor and was trying to get more comfortable when Harry appeared in the doorway.

"If it isn't my favorite employee, Cisco Ramon," he said, coming over to the couch and leaning on the back of it as he looked down at her.

"Cisco's your favorite, hmm?"

"Don't tell my other employees or they'll get insanely jealous," he warned. "And I didn't realize it was you over here, Snow. Whenever I see someone lying on the couch, I assume it's Cisco. Who else would be lounging around in the middle of the day?"

"First, it's 4:30."

"I'll be up eight more hours at least."

"Second, I'm tired."

His tone changed to mildly concerned. "Why don't you cancel with Iris?"

"No," she protested. "I really want to go out. We've put this off twice already."

"What are you two going to do?"

"You know," she began, innocently, "the usual girl stuff. Dinner and drinks and looking for men to pick up."

"Sounds like fun. If you bring someone home, just text me so I know not to bother you two."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, then grinned up at him. "We'd obviously go back to his place."

"You're right, that makes more sense," he agreed, and she admired his ability to keep a straight face no matter what she said to him (most of the time). "Best to keep your dates far away from me. They'd be intimidated by my money. And good looks. And charm. And brilliance. And –"

"Sometimes I wonder how we ever got married," she said, impassively, "when you're so clearly in love with yourself."

"No, I'm…" He pretended to think it over. "Okay…maybe a little. Did I mention my sense of humor? 'Cause that's something, too."

"Oh, it's _something_ ," she agreed.

He took a seat in one of the armchairs and picked up the book from the floor, making sure his words were laced with betrayal when he said, "I can't believe you're reading HR's novel. You know he _killed_ me in this." He flipped it open to try and find the exact spot.

She hesitated, unsure how to tell him…well, best to come out with it. "To be honest, it was a relief when the Dominators vaporized you."

He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers over the top of the book. "It's a relief I _died_? Is there something you want to tell me, Snow?" He shut the book with a snap. "Should I be worried when I go to sleep at night?"

"I'm talking about your character. Sonny leaves a lot to be desired. He's overbearing, controlling, and _insufferably_ smug. He's a genius who knows no one else will ever measure up –"

"Are these supposed to be negative traits?"

"Harry." She turned on her side to face him. "That's _all_ he is, and hence, he's nothing like you. In fact, without the questionable name, I wouldn't have been able to place him as you. Not the way you are now."

"It figures HR would imbue my character with only the worst qualities I've ever possessed."

"And he gave himself your best. HG is some weird hybrid of you and HR. It's kind of disconcerting to read."

"So long as this –" he tapped his fingers on the back cover of the novel, "– doesn't make you fall in love with him."

"You know, now that you mention it, I'm feeling this inexplicable pull towards HR." She stared off into space. "Yeahhhh, I can totally picture us in my mind. We'd look beautiful together, wouldn't we?" She motioned to the book in Harry's lap, HR's grinning face clearly visible on the jacket. "Thankfully, he put his picture on there so I can stare at it whenever I want. I don't know if you've noticed that he's pretty attractive."

He narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if there was a catch in that near-compliment to him. "HR and I look exactly alike."

"Wellll…" She stretched the word out as she looked between Harry's face and HR's picture a few times. Then a few more. Then a few –

"Snow!"

"There's definitely a difference," she said, thoughtfully. "HR has a certain…merriment in his eyes."

"I can be merry," Harry insisted, his tone decidedly the opposite.

"Can you, though? Has _anyone_ ever used that word to describe you in your entire life?"

"That…" he tried to think of an example and failed, "…is not the point. The point is that I can be _very_ merry. Don't test me, not with Christmas coming up next month. I will out-decorate HR just to spite you." He stopped, and Caitlin pinpointed the exact moment he realized what he'd said. "No, wait, I take that back!"

"Too late, Harry," she said, tone bitingly merry. "Looks like the two of you are going to have a contest."

He was already rubbing his forehead in aggravation, probably trying to imagine ways out of it. "Let us get through Thanksgiving first. _Please_. That reminds me, ask Iris what she and Allen are bringing."

Caitlin stared at him. "What?"

"You're right, it'll just be Iris cooking. Let's be realistic."

She half-sat up on the couch in surprise. "Thanksgiving?" How had she completely forgotten about an entire holiday?

"Oh no…did you guys not have Thanksgiving in your timeline?" He had to be kidding – he knew the change only went back three years.

Still, she couldn't resist – and when she truly wanted, her poker face rivaled his. "No, what is that?"

He believed her for a split second, then held up a hand to ward off her claims. "You're not getting out of it that easily."

She sighed and fell back to the couch, sure she didn't look pleased and unable to hide it. "It was worth a shot."

"You forgot about Thanksgiving." He clearly enjoyed that fact. "I must say there's some karma at work here. Your face looks like mine when you volunteered us to host it."

"I _what_?" she gasped.

"Oh no, wait," he was pointing at her, "that panic, right there. That's _much_ closer."

She would have hit him, but he was sitting _just_ too far away in the adjacent chair (probably on purpose). "Why didn't you stop me from volunteering!"

"Good one," he laughed, and when she didn't join in, he paused. "Oh, you're serious? When have I ever been able to stop you from anything? Wait, could I do that in your timeline?"

"No," she sulked. "I wasn't sure about this one, though. Like maybe I listened to you here."

"When it comes to things like this? Almost never. You're big on...how do I put it?"

"Socialization?"

He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. And me…not so much."

"God forbid you interact nicely with the world, or our friends, right?"

"I do so under protest. Mostly."

She met his eyes a little too long before saying, "You don't fool me."

She expected him to at least put up a token protest. Instead, he quietly replied, "I never did."

He'd already told her that she was sort-of his bridge to the others, at least in the beginning. It made her sad for her own timeline, that she hadn't done it for him there. She'd been too lost in her own solitary life. (And maybe 'solitary' was just an easier way of saying 'lonely'.)

But it wasn't like there was some other version of the two of them out there, still living parallel and separate lives. No, that had changed, they were both in this timeline, and she'd helped him _here_ , even if she couldn't remember it. She took a surprising amount of comfort in that.

"Thanksgiving," he was saying, apparently in reminder of their original topic. "You have a lot of things to do. I'll make you a list for tomorrow. Of course, I'll need you here for a full day of work, as well."

If lying about it hadn't gotten her out of anything, it was time for another tactic. "I'm sorry," she tried to inject as much misery into her voice as possible (not too hard when she thought of how much work this was going to be). "It's too much for me to handle, what with everything that's been going on. I don't think I'm up for it. I guess you'll have to pick up the slack, Harry. I'll try to help, but –"

"Do you think I'm buying _any_ of this?"

Her expression turned from pathetic to scowling. "What's a girl have to do to get some sympathy around here?"

"Become a better liar, maybe."

She threw an arm over her eyes, tiredness renewing ten-fold simply _thinking_ of all the errands she'd have to do. What did hosting Thanksgiving even entail? She'd never put together a holiday dinner for anyone, never mind a large group of people. On the rare occasion that she and Ronnie weren't invited anywhere on a particular holiday, they'd stayed home and celebrated quietly together, usually with something store-bought.

One thing she knew for certain: there would be nothing _quiet_ about a Thanksgiving with all of their friends.

"I guess I'll set an actual alarm tomorrow. Getting up earlier will let me get more done." She finally glanced over at him, and wait – she knew that look on his face. All too well. "I don't have to do anything, do I?"

He was, as usual, far too pleased with himself. "Did you really think I would let it get so close without having everything taken care of?"

She couldn't believe she'd overlooked that crucial fact. "I guess I was too caught up in the horror of what I might have to do."

"First of all, it's a potluck, they insisted when we said it'd be at our house. Hence why I want you to check with Iris what she's going to bring – she was up in the air on what dessert she wanted to make the last time I asked her. More importantly, though, if I had to rely on _you_ to do this, we'd be eating frozen TV dinners. Or something."

"I think I should be offended," she said, then added, "You get turkey at the deli counter, right?"

"Yes, we all want turkey slices for Thanksgiving." He was smiling at her joke, then turned more thoughtful. "Actually, if it got us out of ever doing this again…"

"Don't even think of sabotaging this on purpose," she scolded. "And I'll help more for Christmas, I promise. At least, I assume we're hosting that, too?"

"I don't know. Probably." His exasperation knew no limits. "We host everything, it seems."

"You should have thought of that before living in a mansion. If you'd chosen a studio apartment, no one would ever want to come over."

"Have you met these people? I assure you, that wouldn't deter them."

"You have a point," she allowed, cringing at the idea of everyone crammed into a one-room apartment.

He set HR's novel back on the floor next to her and got up. "Enjoy your nap, I'm going to head out."

"What are your plans tonight?"

"Making dinner? Working? Not necessarily in that order – I might reverse it."

"Know what," her eyes turned mischievous, "it sounds a little lonely to me." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Let me text Cisco and HR that you want to meet – hey!" she cried, as he snatched it from her hand.

He was standing over her, and when she reached up to grab her phone back, he held it higher. "You can't be trusted with this."

"How old are you? Twelve? Give me my phone."

"Not until you promise you won't send them such awful, _untrue_ lies."

"Fine. I promise." Her tone said quite the opposite.

"Then I'll keep it."

To her dismay, he actually went for the exit, and she was pretty sure that calling his bluff would mean she lost. "Okay, I'm sorry!"

He turned on his heel to face her, assessing her truthfulness. She must have passed, since he drew his arm back, as if he were going to throw the phone at her – and since she wasn't at all confident in her ability to catch it while lying down, she quickly covered her head with her arms.

"We gotta work on this." His words came from somewhere above her.

She put her arms down to find he'd returned to her side. "That was a reflex," she tried to explain.

"Uh huh. Rest assured that I wouldn't throw your $700 phone across the room. Not when you fled from the path of a book earlier."

"The physics of catching something alter drastically when you're on a horizontal plane as opposed to –"

"Remember who you're talking to," he interrupted, dropping the phone into her hands.

"Trust me. I never forget."

He hesitated, watching her in a way that meant he had something more to say and wasn't sure how to bring it up.

She shut her eyes, giving him a minute, but he didn't speak. Finally, she opened one eye. Yup, still there. Hovering. "Are you going to stare at me until Iris shows up?"

He blinked, snapping himself out of it. "Sorry."

"What is it?"

"I wanted to make sure that there isn't anything you feel you can't tell me."

"Like…?"

He waited another beat, obviously unsure if he should say it. In the end, he must have decided he had to. "Like the possibility of you being pregnant. We haven't talked about it since things changed and that was three weeks ago."

_How had it already been that long?_

"No, Harry," she said, automatically. "There's nothing to tell you." At least, she didn't think there was. She'd know by now, wouldn't she?

"That's for the best," he was saying. "The last thing we – or you – need is something that big to deal with." His expression had eased a bit. "Our lives have gone through enough upheaval as it is."

She felt herself nodding in response to his words, though they'd thrown her in a way she hadn't expected. She hadn't consciously been avoiding the idea of it, it was more that she'd simply blocked it out, perhaps not wanting to face such a possibility and what it would mean, not only for her, but for both of them.

"Have fun with Iris. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"So…don't do anything?"

"You're funny," he said, as he walked backwards toward the exit. "Almost as funny as me. See you at home."

She waved at him, agreeing, "Home."

She stared at the exit for a long time after he'd gone. She couldn't shake their conversation, replaying it several times in her head, trying to determine how serious he'd been when he said it was a good thing she wasn't pregnant. Because _what if she was_? Would he be unhappy about it? Would it be a painful reminder of the life they'd had, the one that had irrevocably changed?

Her doubts about her life here, the ones she tried so valiantly to push to the back of her mind every day, came flooding to the forefront. No matter how many times Harry told her that she was the same, she didn't actually _feel_ that way. And maybe he could finally see that. Maybe it wasn't that he didn't want a baby _now_ , maybe he'd decided he'd never want one with _her_.

But that'd be fine, wouldn't it? They didn't have the same relationship they'd had before and there was a good chance they never would. She shook off the thoughts, irritated with herself, and returned to thinking over his question: she hadn't exactly been keeping track of anything here. (Harry probably knew far more about it than she did – and that was a bizarre thought.) Had she missed her period? Was it too early to 'miss' anything?

Her eyes strayed to the exam room – she didn't have to leave the building to definitively answer the question and prove that what she'd told Harry was correct.

So that was how Iris found her some time later, sitting on the couch, staring at a print-out of her blood test results and wondering how she could possibly be reading what she was reading.

"What's going on?" her friend asked, walking into the cortex. "You weren't answering texts, I've been outside for ten minutes waiting. I almost thought you went home, but decided to check."

Caitlin broke out of her daze and checked her phone – nine missed texts from Iris. "Sorry, I'm…"

"Really pale," Iris filled in, coming to sit next to her. "Is everything okay?"

"I can't… I don't know." Caitlin handed over the test results.

"You might have to help me," Iris warned. "It's been a _long_ time since my college biology classes that I barely remember. I feel like I vaguely recall HCG being important to…" She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Does this say what I think it says?"

Caitlin nodded, but when her expression didn't change from its troubled state, her friend's burgeoning joy slowly faded. (And that was it, wasn't it? That was _exactly_ what she could expect from Harry when she told him this, either because he'd changed his mind about wanting it, or because he'd see that she wasn't happy. That she wasn't… _anything_. She was only numb.)

"I don't know what to do," she told Iris. It felt like she was in a dream, like none of this could possibly be real. It was like the night she'd woken up, but ten times more disorienting. "I was convinced this wasn't possible. Harry even asked me _today_ , a couple hours ago. I told him I wasn't. I thought the odds were… He's going to think I lied to him, Iris."

"He's not going to think that," Iris said, reaching over to push some hair behind her shoulder; she must have sensed Caitlin would fall apart at any gesture more than that. "He's going to understand. What's important is how _you_ feel about this."

Caitlin didn't really have an answer for her. When Harry had first mentioned the possibility, it had surprised her, but it hadn't scared her. She'd even imagined her own heartbreak at wanting a child and not getting one. If she'd felt that, how could she be faced with the reality of actually being pregnant and feel _nothing_? All she could tell Iris was, "There must be something wrong with me that I can't feel anything."

"Honey, there is nothing wrong with you," Iris swore. "You're surprised. You're…in shock. That's normal." She met Caitlin's eyes, firmly. "That's _okay_."

Caitlin shook her head in denial. "What's he going to think that I'm not excited about this? It's only going to remind him of everything that I'm not."

"No," Iris said, emphatically. "Not true. Not true at all."

"But it is true, Iris. If I was the same as before and I was telling you this, how would I feel?" It was a challenge Iris couldn't lie about, and the other woman knew it.

"You would have been…happy," she murmured, reluctantly, before swiftly adding, "And you still can be, when this sinks in."

"There's no guarantee of that."

"Caitlin." Iris was starting to look more troubled. "Do you not…want this?"

It took her a moment to realize what Iris was asking. "No," she said, and when Iris' face fell, Caitlin realized that answer could work either way. "No! That's not what I meant. I might be completely lost right now, but I would never…not have it."

Relief flooded her friend's face. "Okay, so talk it out with me."

Caitlin figured she might as well start with one of her biggest fears: "Earlier, when I told him I wasn't pregnant, he said it was for the best. And I _agreed_ with him, Iris."

"I know Harry, and the _only_ reason he would have said that is to make you – and himself – feel better. He wanted a child as much as you did."

"What if he changed his mind because of…" _who I am._ "Everything?"

When Iris spoke next, it was slowly, and with as much conviction as Caitlin had ever heard: "There is no way he won't be happy about this."

She took a shaky breath. "You think?"

"I do. And I wish you could talk to yourself, from before," Iris added, wistfully. "Just for a couple minutes. So you'd know how much you wanted this. _Both_ of you." She capped that off with a pointed look, probably in reference to Caitlin's worry over telling Harry.

"I believe you. Harry's told me as much."

"You believe us, sure, but I wish you could _feel_ it," Iris sighed, then added more confidently, "I think you will again, one day. Whether you recall your time here or not."

Caitlin desperately hoped that was true. "We're in a good place. Both of us are getting used to what our lives are like now, and possibly forever if I never remember my life here. There's nothing too serious to deal with at the moment, but know what's serious?" Her voice was becoming tinged with an edge of hysteria. "This, _this_ is serious!"

"I can't say I disagree with that." Iris kept her voice calm, which helped Caitlin remember to breathe. "But this doesn't have to mean more than it is. All it has to be is two people who do the best they can to raise a child. People do it every day who aren't in relationships."

"But that's not what I _want_ ," Caitlin whispered. "I want to love him the way he loves me. I care about him so much, I really do, but I'm not – we're not…"

"Do you understand that it's okay if you never feel that way?" Iris asked, gently. "Because it _is_ , Caitlin. And a child could do much worse than to have two parents who wanted him or her as badly as you both did – as much as I'm sure you will again." Iris wrapped a hand around her arm. "Even if those parents aren't in love with each other."

Caitlin knew what Iris said was true, but she hated the idea of a world where she and Harry had both decided to move on and had to share raising a child anyways. And not because of how difficult that life would be to navigate – getting divorced and finding a new place to live and being _alone_ again. She could manage all of that; she'd been on her own for most of her life and she could do it again.

No, she hated the idea because the thought of a future without him…it _hurt_.

Iris was still talking, trying to reassure her. "Everything will be fine, Caitlin. We're all here for you, no matter what. We're your family, you know that."

When Iris moved to hug her, Caitlin didn't pull away, but she could only wonder how much they'd hate her – how much they'd _blame_ her – if she and Harry chose to separate their lives. Because it would be on her… It would be _her_ fault for not being able to fit into this life the way she once had.

She didn't expect any of them to remain in her life when they technically only knew her as the woman who replaced the one they'd loved before.

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin entered the dark foyer, wondering where Harry might be. She really hoped he wasn't working, that he'd allowed himself a break.

After their talk, Iris had insisted on putting off their dinner plans again, and Caitlin was glad because she was too worried to eat anything. Iris had dropped her off at home and offered to walk her in, perhaps sensing she might appreciate some emotional support, but Caitlin had declined, telling her she'd be fine.

She'd be _fine_.

Right?

She dropped her keys on the credenza and followed the light coming from the other end of the house, finding Harry in the kitchen.

"Hey," he greeted, surprised to see her. He was stirring something at the stove – spaghetti? "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? Did Iris have to cancel?"

She mutely shook her head, clutching the paper folded in her hand and sitting on the barstool to watch him cook for a minute. She was starting to enjoy watching him as much as he seemed to like watching her.

"I'm guessing you didn't eat then. I'll add more."

She didn't respond, unfolding the paper to read and reread it, like the numbers might have changed on the drive home. (Well, knowing their life…)

"What is that?" His voice had lost its lightness, turning far more concerned. No, not concerned – _afraid_. "Are you okay?"

She had no idea how to tell him and was pretty sure the words wouldn't come out even if she opened her mouth and tried. Instead, she handed him the print-out; he'd know what the hormone levels meant.

She tracked the emotions that crossed his face – relief at first (he must have thought it was something terrible), then surprise, concern, and finally…nothing. When he looked up at her, there was absolutely _no_ expression on his face. (God, she hated how he could do that.)

"I knew they were test results." He pressed his thumb against the S.T.A.R. Labs letterhead, the kind they used specifically – and only – in the medical lab. "You scared me."

"I didn't mean to." They were the first words she'd said since she bid Iris goodbye.

She nervously clasped and unclasped her hands, trying to think of Iris' reassurance to calm herself. _There is no way he won't be happy about this_. She wished Iris was here right now to say the words out loud, maybe remind _him_ , because he certainly didn't look happy. He didn't look…anything. He just kept glancing between the paper and her.

He'd said, only a couple hours earlier, that her not being pregnant was a good thing. And she'd come home and showed him evidence of the exact opposite. It felt as if the universe – that had already screwed with them so badly – was outright laughing at them now.

This had to remind him that she had no memories here older than a month. She had no recollection of wanting a child with him, never mind making the decision to try. Never mind…actually trying.

Her face burned and she put her head in her hands. His silence wasn't helping her nerves, either. Maybe he was processing it like she'd been trying (and failing) to do?

"I'm confused," he said. "You told me that you weren't pregnant."

"I thought it was the truth," she said quickly, hoping he didn't think she'd purposely misled him. "I'd put it out of my mind with everything that was happening. I guess I chose to believe there was no way it could be true. It was too much. After everything." She forced back the sudden tears that were threatening, her voice sounding unnatural even to her own ears, somewhere on the verge of about to break. "Exactly like you _said_ that it would be too much."

"Not for me," he clarified calmly, turning down the heat on the stove and coming to stand next to her. "I never meant for me. I meant for _you_."

"You were right." Her head actually ached from the pressure behind her eyes. "It's…a lot."

She shut her eyes to compose herself and pressed the heels of her palms against them. She listened to the still-boiling water across the island. Took in his presence next to her. Tried to calm her breathing. This was her life. Her, and him. And soon enough, someone else.

She waited until she no longer felt like she might fracture into a thousand pieces, and then glanced at him. He was waiting for that signal, apparently.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, quietly.

 _That this is perhaps the most unfair thing that's happened to us so far_.

That it would happen _now_ , of all possible times. Leaving her to try and accept an extraordinary change to her current reality, and him to deal with a pale imitation of what this news should have been – a time of excitement and celebration.

She felt like she should apologize to him and bit down on the words. He wouldn't appreciate it, she knew that much.

"It's hard for me to believe," she finally answered. "Despite the proof right here." She put her finger on the paper, where he'd set it down, and drew it back in front of her.

"You've seemed off," he told her. "That's why I suspected it. You've been excessively tired, emotional at times, with some sudden mood changes…but any of those things could be attributed to lingering effects from the stress of finding yourself in a new timeline."

"Those sudden mood changes are entirely due to you," she informed him, trying for a lightness she didn't truly feel. "You and your never-ending harassment. Sometimes I snap."

He leaned forward, resting his arms on the island, and when he smiled at her, she felt immensely better. "I knew that was a definite possibility, too."

She thought about the other things he'd mentioned. She certainly wouldn't argue that she'd been tired, but… "Have I been _that_ emotional?"

"You almost burst into tears when you saw HR today. _HR_." He repeated the other man's name to emphasize how truly wrong he thought that was. "If that wasn't a clue –"

"I missed him!" she cried. "And his story was so sad, Harry. I mean, his Caitlin hates him…"

" _His_ Caitlin?" He raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "No matter. All that tells me is she's one of the few on Earth-57 with any sense whatsoever."

Caitlin acknowledged the quip, and normally would have responded to it, but she was too preoccupied thinking about their situation. The fundamental change it would be for them. And he hadn't really said his thoughts on it, either way…

When she was silent for too long, he asked, "Did you want children? We kind of talked around it that first night and I never heard a real answer. You always wanted children, here, even before we got together."

"Yes, I did. After Ronnie died, I regretted that we never had a child." She glanced at him, worried he might take that the wrong way, but he was only watching her with such a painful mix of empathy and understanding that her eyes hurt again. "I just never expected to wake up one day and find out that I not only had a different life, but that I was…"

"I know. And I'm sorry that you can't remember wanting this." _With me_. The unspoken end of his sentence was too heartbreaking for her to respond to directly. He'd walked away to remove the water from the stove, though she figured that was more an excuse to avoid looking at her.

"Harry…are you happy about this?"

"I am _very_ happy about this," he promised. "I can see it's not exactly the same for you."

There was no way they would get through this if they weren't honest with each other, so she might as well tell him the truth. "I'm scared, Harry." She stared at the test results still lying in front of her on the counter. "I'm scared because I don't feel _anything_." And she knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear, because he should have a wife who was happy about this, _thrilled_ about this. He deserved it and she was…she was _failing_ at this already that she couldn't give him that.

Despite knowing this was a possibility (he'd told her; she'd been warned), she had pretty much brushed the entire idea aside. It had been too much to think about, the implications of it, the fact that it was a permanent connection to this timeline. She'd known she'd been here, she'd believed it, but this was irrefutable proof that _she_ had been here all along. Not some other version of her that could be easily swapped in and out, which was how she sometimes felt.

She had lived here, in this life, with him. She simply had no memories of it.

There was a difference between 'knowing' it and being hit full-force with evidence of it.

"What you're feeling, or rather _not_ feeling," he began, "I'm guessing it's because this doesn't seem real to you. There's nothing wrong with needing – wanting – time to register this. You only found out two hours ago."

" _You're_ not in shock."

"Because we'd been trying to have a baby since we got married seven months ago. And I already have a child and know that – like everything I attempt – I excel at being a father."

Instead of making her roll her eyes, like his overconfident jokes usually did, it was only reassuring to know he felt that way. And he made some good points, but… "What if this isn't some fleeting thing that passes on its own?" What if she felt this way about their child? _Nothing._ She was starting to get worked up again. "What if I never –"

"There is no way you wouldn't love your own child," he said, a bit harshly, and she knew it was to snap her out of her spiral. "I know who you are, Caitlin – you're one of the most loving, caring people I've ever met. So no, that's not possible. It would never happen."

"I don't know if I can do this," she said, helplessly. Not the way he and their child would deserve. She just might not be…enough for them.

Harry's face had changed, turning blank again. "Caitlin, ever since you woke up here with no memory of us, I've been very careful to…not ask anything of you that I didn't think you could give." He glanced down, seeming to gather his thoughts before looking back up. "I know you don't feel the same about me as before the timeline changed. So asking anything from you, it wouldn't have been fair. And maybe it's still not fair, maybe it's too much, because while I will maintain until my dying day that you are the same person you always were, even with the change, I know that to _your_ mind, you had no part in this. It wasn't your choice."

Her blood was running cold – she was starting to suspect that he'd taken a wrong turn down a dark road. She was about to respond when he held up his hand in silent request.

"My point is that I'm well-aware I might not have any right to ask this of you." He met her eyes, unwavering, and braced himself by holding onto the counter. "I'm asking anyways."

He didn't have to speak the question directly because she knew what he meant. There wasn't any blankness on his face, not anymore. Now it seemed he felt _too_ much.

He looked as if he were prepared for her to end his entire world.

And that… _that_ would have been enough for her to make up her mind if she'd had any doubt (but she'd never had any doubt – not about this part, at least).

The only reason she didn't cry, then, was because she was too afraid he'd misinterpret it and she couldn't let him think that, not even for a second.

She walked around the island and pushed herself up to sit on the counter next to where he was standing – he was still a little taller this way, but they were more even. He was watching her, which was a relief. (It was _always_ a relief when he didn't look away.)

"Harry, even though it feels unreal to me, even though I can't fully get my mind around it yet, I know this is my child, too. And I… I _choose_ to believe that eventually I'm going to fully accept that. And there is no…" She cleared her throat, getting choked up. "There is nothing in this world that would make me not have it."

She saw his instant relief at that as he shut his eyes and breathed out slowly. When he looked at her again, though, there was still something wrong. He took a step back, too, putting more space between them, and she wasn't sure why until he said, "I was worried that you might feel like this was…" He searched for the words – and what he settled on…she could tell he hated it even before he said it: "A violation."

A _violation_? "No…" she breathed. "Harrison. No. Out of everything this past month, that thought has _never_ crossed my mind. I have never felt that way with you before and I certainly don't now."

"You're sure? Because you don't remember. Anything."

"I wouldn't lie to you about this." It felt strange to be the one reassuring him, for once. And she was glad that she could. That he trusted her enough to let her.

"I knew this was a conversation we needed to have one day. It came much sooner than I expected."

"Harry, I promise you, I don't feel anything close to what you're thinking. Not at all. I know – and I believe – that I wanted this as much as you." She tried to picture another man standing there with her, talking to him about this, knowing she was married to him. That she was going to have a child with him. The mere idea of it felt so incredibly _wrong_. "That first night, finding myself here with no memories, I never told you this, but I was so…relieved that it was you here and not someone else. I don't think I could do this with anyone else." No, that was wrong. "I _know_ I couldn't have. I'd have left already. Marriage or child or not."

"You really feel that way?"

She nodded, carefully. It was truer every day. "If it had been anyone but you, I wouldn't be with him right now. In all honesty, I probably would have panicked and gone to you for help in fixing the timeline, no matter the cost." She glanced around, remembering where they were. "I guess in that sense, we'd probably still be here right now, in this kitchen."

"I hope so," he said, "because this is where you belong."

 _Why_ did he always say things like that, which immediately sent her from completely calm to feeling like she was on the brink of becoming an emotional wreck? (Though maybe it wasn't him, maybe it was her. Or maybe she was in denial. About a lot of things.)

He reached out for her and she leaned back, evading him. "No," she protested. "You can't."

He froze before slowly putting his hand down. "Okay."

She was shaking her head, trying to explain. "You can't touch me yet because if you do I'm going to start crying and we need to finish this conversation first."

"Fine." He deliberately crossed his arms, like he needed that to stop himself. "I don't like it, though."

She almost smiled at his petulant tone, but she was too busy trying to figure out how to say the other thing weighing on her mind. The knowledge that had struck her the moment he'd revealed he was afraid she might not want to have their child.

She wanted him to know that she understood what this meant to him, and that even if she had her own doubts and worries, he'd never had anything to fear. Not about this.

"Harry, you need to know that even if I'd never wanted children… I would have done this for you."

He seemed unsure of her motivations. "You don't owe me anything."

(He was wrong, _so wrong_ , on that point. But she didn't bother arguing, because there was a different point she wanted to make.)

"That's not what I mean, Harry. It wouldn't have been an obligation – I would have _wanted_ to do this. For _you_. And for the record, that's not how I feel right now. Having this child is for both of us. But if circumstances were different…then I would have done it just for you. That's all I'm saying."

It was perhaps the closest she'd ever seen Harrison Wells come to crying – he didn't, but it was a near thing as he rubbed a hand over his face to try and compose himself. The only time that compared, in her memory, was when she'd seen his anguish over Jesse's abduction. (And his reaction was doing absolutely _nothing_ for her own composure, though she was managing to hold on by the thinnest of threads.)

When he'd recovered enough to look at her again, gratitude wasn't the proper name for what she saw in his eyes. She didn't think what she saw there _had_ a name.

"I was worried about telling you tonight," she admitted.

He put a hand on either side of where she was sitting on the counter and leaned closer, though he carefully adhered to his promise not to touch her. "You can't have thought I wouldn't be happy."

His words closely echoed what Iris had promised, which made her inwardly smile at her friend's wisdom. (Oh, how Iris would gloat over her 'I told you so' and Caitlin wouldn't even mind.)

"I didn't know _what_ you'd be," Caitlin said. "I know how much the two of you wanted a baby together and you never got it. She – _I_ should be thrilled and excited. My reaction must be so far removed from what you imagined." She stared at his shirt, unwilling to risk a glance at his face, at the possible disappointment she might find there. "So I thought you might resent me. For not being…"

"Caitlin."

"Her. Because you don't get to experience this with _her_."

"Yes," he said, vehemently. "I do."

Her breath hitched, eyes filling with tears as she looked at his face. And there was no disappointment there, no resentment – there was nothing even _close_.

He held his hands up and then paused. "Can I touch you now?"

She couldn't speak, could only manage a half-nod in answer.

He put his hands on either side of her face and pressed his forehead against hers. "You will never understand the depth of love I have for you," he whispered.

She was right about the crying, because she started the second he touched her, but it wasn't from fear and it wasn't from relief. It wasn't even because he wanted this when she'd been agonizing over how he'd react.

No, she was crying because of what he'd said to her. To _her_. It wasn't about who she'd been before, it was about who she was _now_. And yes, he'd told her that before, many times, but she'd never truly believed him until tonight.

So the last thing he'd said…he was wrong.

This was the beginning of her starting to understand.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the feedback and encouragement, it keeps me going!

Upon realizing she was a complete wreck, Harry had dropped his hands and pulled her into an actual hug that she willingly returned. She tried to stop crying as she let him comfort her in a way that seemed so familiar and yet (still) so new.

“We have to stop doing this,” she finally told him, voice muffled since she couldn’t be bothered turning away from his shirt. “Me crying all over you.”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “You can cry every day if you want.”

“I _don’t_ want that.” She leaned back in order to look at him. She was still sitting on the island and she briefly thought about everything that had happened in this kitchen – in its own way, it was becoming one of her favorite rooms. “I can’t spend the next eight months falling apart. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to cry?”

“I’m sorry.” He used his thumbs to wipe away some of her tears, which paradoxically made her want to cry more. She almost protested that he’d let go of her to do it, but maybe he understood some other way, since he wrapped his arms around her again and she relaxed ever so slightly.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she told him. “This isn’t your fault. None of it is.”

“Then why does it feel like it is?” He sounded upset with himself. “This was something we should have discussed more seriously weeks ago. Then maybe it wouldn’t have hit you with such shock.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” she reminded him. “You know that. I was glad you didn’t push me on it, actually. And you were right before, to say that I probably need time to process this. Based on that blood test, and the timing I’ve pretty much guessed, doctors won’t even see me this early anyways. So if you’re okay with giving me a little more time…”

“I will give you all the time in the world,” he swore. “We can wait to talk about it until you’re in labor if you want. Or their first birthday. Or their high school graduation.”

She inexplicably found herself laughing at the absurdity of the idea – having and raising a child with him while she kept avoiding any discussion of it. “Okay, maybe a _little_ sooner than that,” she allowed. “I’ll be ready by the time they start kindergarten, at the latest.”

“That gives us about six years,” he said. “Sounds reasonable to me.”

She tried to school her features into something more serious. She shouldn’t be half as amused as she was. “Why are you making me laugh?” she asked, playfully hitting him. “This should be…I don’t know. Terrifying!”

“Hmm,” he began, archly, “but it’s not, is it?”

“No,” she said, helplessly. “Out of everything that it is? It’s definitely not that.”

“Because we’re two capable adults, one of whom has experience raising a child?” he suggested. “Or maybe because we have a lot of money? Remember, if things start going badly, we could always hire someone else to raise it.”

She bit her lip and leaned into him again, to try and hide her laughter, but she knew he could tell from the way she was slightly shaking.

“You don’t seem to be taking this seriously,” he scolded, tapping his fingers against her back.

“And whose fault is that?” she demanded, after she’d composed herself.

“Can’t be mine.”

“It’s always yours,” she claimed, a bit petulant, and that time he was the one who laughed.

Her mind drifted back to wondering why this wasn’t terrifying. At all. She considered his possible suggestions for it, but none of them fit. “It’s not our age, and it’s not your experience as a father, and it’s not that we have money.”

He watched her speculatively, somehow sensing (as he always did) that she needed another moment to put her thoughts together.

She inhaled slowly and then forced herself to meet his eyes directly, ignoring that it’d be much easier to look away. “It’s you.” When he didn’t say anything, she wondered if he hadn’t grasped her meaning, and explained, “It’s not terrifying because it’s _you_.”

She’d already told him she couldn’t do this with anyone else, but what she was telling him now…it was different. And it mattered just as much, if not more.

He still hadn’t spoken and she wondered if she’d somehow rendered him speechless. “You make everything okay.” She was getting worried. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I do,” he finally said, and there was a tone in his voice she couldn’t quite place. “You do the same for me. You always have. You don’t just make things okay, you make them better.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “Everything about my life is better because of you.”

“Yeah, that too,” she said, glancing down because she was tearing up again. “I know it’s really only been a month for me, but…same back at you.”

He ran his hands down her arms, stopping at her hands. “Caitlin.” He waited for her to look up again. “We. Will. Be. Okay.”

“I believe you,” she said, simply. Because she did. She’d always trusted him before, but now, with the way things were between them, it felt like that trust had magnified ten-fold. She seriously doubted he would ever be able to do anything to shake it.

The change in him from ten minutes earlier was astounding – that awful fear she’d seen, when he was worried about what she might want to do about the pregnancy, was completely gone. He was back to the Harrison Wells she’d always known, no matter the timeline. The one who knew how to get through anything and everything. The one who would always be there for her, or any of their team, if they needed him.

 _This_ was the Harrison Wells she needed so much that when she allowed herself to think about it, it kind of scared her. She wasn’t used to needing people, and even if she occasionally did, she was good at pretending she didn’t.

Where was their line now? How would she ever know if she was asking too much?

“You realize for someone who wanted to hold off on talking about this,” Harry broke into her thoughts, “we _were_ already talking about it.”

“Yeah,” she mock-scowled at him, “how’d you do that?”

“I have a way about me,” he said, smugly. He drew back with one last squeeze of her hands and then let her go, though she stayed on the counter. “It’s okay. I’ll give you that six years you wanted before bringing it up again.”

She knew he was joking, but the ease with which he said it was comforting. Like he had no doubt in his mind that in six years they’d still be in each other’s lives. No matter what might happen with her or their relationship. Or the timeline, for that matter.

“One last thing before we drop the subject entirely…” he began, carefully.

“That was a _fast_ six years,” she quipped, as he shot her a look.

“Like I said earlier, maybe it doesn’t feel real to you because there’s such a disconnect between your previous life and the reality of how things are here.” He’d gone back to getting things together for dinner, and she vaguely remembered they hadn’t eaten yet. “Maybe doing more things like we used to – like that date we’re still going on, don’t think I’ve forgotten – will help.”

“It makes sense,” she agreed. “I mean most people would at least remember _how_ they got pregnant.”

“I wasn’t thinking that specifically,” he said, and she wondered if she was going to regret bringing it up when she saw the glint in his eyes.

She mulled over the possible ways someone might end up in a similar situation to hers. “I guess some people wouldn’t remember if they were like…blackout drunk or something.”

“I assure you – you weren’t drunk.” He stopped, as if something had occurred to him. “Well, unless you consider yourself drunk on _me_ …”

“Oh God,” she groaned, genuinely unable to decide if she was more amused or appalled. Laughter won out, as it usually (always?) did when she was with him. “That line is so bad. Don’t repeat it to anyone. Ever.”

“Even if it’s the truth?” he threw out, overly casual, and now she was sure it was a game.

“ _Especially_ if it’s the truth,” she shot back, feeling strangely giddy, and better than she had all evening. There was something about sparring with him that just…made her happy. “Because if it’s the truth, then I have to be embarrassed for both of us instead of just you. And besides, if I never remember, then how would I ever be sure? You could tell me anything!”

“That’s a very good point,” he said, and she actually _saw_ the effort it was taking him to resist smiling. “In that case, it was the best night of your life. Not that _every_ night with me isn’t the best, but this one was definitely up there.”

“Uh huh, that’s something I’d say. Every time.”

“You’re a firm believer in the wonders of positive feedback.”

“Like your ego needs any more?” she argued, swiveling on the counter when he needed to open the drawer her legs were blocking.

“Complimenting me is one of your favorite things to do. For anything and everything,” he swore, refusing to give in. “How wonderful of a boss I am, how brilliant I am, how great I am as a husband…”

He’d thrown out the half-cooked spaghetti from earlier, apparently deeming it ruined, and set new water to boil. He surreptitiously eyed her, obviously checking to see if she was buying any of this.

“That definitely sounds like me.” She stared off into space as if she were having a philosophical revelation. “At last, it’s becoming clear why I ended up here, why the timeline changed for us… It’s because my purpose in life was to be your cheerleader.”

“Exactly!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “There’s no better way to describe it. Why else would I have married you?”

“I thought I was a trophy wife,” she reminded him, referring to the joke he’d made weeks ago – because even on that first night, without her memories, they'd been like this with each other.

“Being a cheerleader is _part_ of being a trophy wife. They’re intertwined. Know what, I’ll make you a list so you’re clear on what I expect from now on.”

“Oh, I look forward to that,” she said, in monotone. And she somehow _knew_ that he was going to make one, if only because he’d find it hilarious.

He pulled two jars of sauce out of a cabinet, one tomato and one alfredo, and she nodded at the latter. “I’d much rather make sauce myself,” he was explaining, “but I don’t want to dedicate the time tonight. On Earth-2, processed foods are much worse than here. I like to imagine it’s because we care more about health so we cook more from scratch – there’s not a lot of incentive to make pre-packaged foods any better.”

“So your reasoning is that, as a whole, your entire planet is not only healthier, but you’re all better at cooking than us?”

“What other explanation could there be?”

“Obviously none,” she said dryly, crossing her legs at the ankle and absently swinging them against the white cabinet below her. From his wary look at her feet, she figured she was about 15 seconds away from a lecture on how she was going to damage the wood that had cost more than she made in a month. Or something. “I’m sure you excel at cooking, Harry. Like everything else in your life.”

“You _do_ get it,” he said, ignoring that she was repeating his words from earlier, almost verbatim. When she kicked the cabinet again, he shot out a hand to still her legs. “You’re aware that’s an ivory glaze over the wood, right?”

 _What the hell was an ivory glaze?_ She deliberately swung her legs again, though with half as much force (she really did like the cabinets). “Easily susceptible to damage, is it?”

In response, he reached over and pushed her a few inches to the side. Then a few more. Then a few –

“Harry!” She had no choice but to jump off the side of the island if she didn’t want to fall. “Did you just viciously shove me off the counter?”

“To save my cabinets? You’re damn right I did.” He’d leaned over to run a hand over the one she’d kicked, and she couldn’t tell if he was inspecting for damage or doing it for show. Knowing him, probably both.

“Careful,” she said, glaring at him in challenge when he stood up again. “I might think you love your precious kitchen more than me.”

He ducked his head down to her ear. “I love _nothing_ the way I love you,” he promised, and right when she inhaled sharply, he pulled back. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t love this kitchen. So if you damage it on purpose, you’re going to be the one fixing it.”

“I can’t be doing manual labor with kitchen remodeling. The sanding, the paint –”

“ _Glaze_.”

“Glaze,” she repeated, flatly. “I’m…” she hesitated. “That all sounds very hazardous to my health.”

He hadn’t missed where her original sentence was going. “I have eight months of this to look forward to?”

“Oh, _much_ longer than that,” she assured him. “But only when I don’t feel like doing something.” He didn’t seem impressed by that ‘assurance’. She ran a hand along the black marble countertop. “You and your aesthetic. It’s so wonderfully boring in here.”

“Black and white is _tasteful_ ,” he insisted, as he went to the fridge. “I’ll have you know that you always loved this kitchen.”

“I think you're lying,” she countered, sweetly. “Otherwise, I guess I had the same bland taste as _you_ before." (And now she might never admit that she liked it – not if it meant he’d win.)

He took out some garlic bread, waiting for her to nod before setting it on the counter. (She was mildly surprised when he didn’t get into how he enjoyed making his own bread, or how superior bread was in general on Earth-2.) “Same bland taste, huh? I really miss the unending praise from you, Snow. I truly hope you keep it up.”

“Mmhmm,” she said, pretending to be fascinated by the garlic bread instructions (so he wouldn't see her smile) and set the temperature on the stove. “I can tell that you need my support, what with being so unsure of yourself.”

“I’m fragile,” he insisted. “Everything you see is an act. My confidence is built on a house of cards that could collapse at any moment.”

She watched him add more spaghetti to the boiling water on the island stovetop. “That is definitely not you, never has been, and never will be. I don’t care _what_ timeline we ever find ourselves in.”

He heaved a sigh, like she’d expertly caught him out. “I can’t help it that I’m not only wonderful, but smart enough to know it. That shouldn’t be held against me.”

“I’d never dream of it,” she said, and only managed not to roll her eyes because she was becoming an expert at that lately…for some reason.

“Liar,” he murmured, low enough that she almost didn’t hear it.

She moved back to the island, resting her hip against it and studying him. “How much grief did I give you before? Be truthful.”

“This,” he waved a hand at her, “is about the exact same amount. Trust me.” He’d poured the sauce into a pan and when some of it splashed onto his hands, he went to wash it off.

“I’m sure I’m usually doing it in retaliation.”

“It’s not ‘retaliation’ when you start it,” he countered, flicking some water at her and she reflexively gasped even though it was no more than a few drops.

“Like you did, right there?” She made a show of wiping herself off with a black and white checked towel from one of the drawers, then tossed it at him so he could dry his own hands. And _why_ did the towels match the floor, for that matter? “Do you ever feel like you’re in a real-life chess game?”

“Every day,” he smirked. “And I’m winning.”

She was only half-listening as she glanced between him and the sink nearest to him.

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he warned, “don’t do it.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” she insisted, moving closer to the sink. She actually had no plans of retaliation, but his uneasiness meant that her actions were more than worth it.

“Snow…” he was going for threatening, but she only heard barely concealed laughter, “I mean it.”

“You started it,” she said, idly tapping on the faucet.

“And I sincerely apologize,” he claimed, quite insincerely.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

He pointed a wooden spoon her. “This is why us cooking together usually turns into a disaster if we don’t have an ongoing truce. Now imagine us on Thanksgiving. When people are actually expecting a decent meal to eat.”

 _Thanksgiving!_ She knew she’d been forgetting something, but maybe he wouldn’t –

“Speaking of which,” he interrupted her thoughts, “what did Iris say about Thanksgiving?”

“I completely forgot,” she mumbled, sheepishly. “I was so distracted by…” _the thing they weren’t going to talk about for six more years._

He took his phone from the counter, and she guessed he was going to text Iris. “It’s a good thing you have me, Snow. Honestly.”

 _Yeah_ , she thought, suddenly overcome with gratitude. _It is._

**XXXXXX**

They managed to get through dinner without any further discussion of her pregnancy, and she was grateful because she definitely needed time. They’d mostly talked about work and Thanksgiving. After, she’d distracted herself by reading for a while and now it was getting late enough that she couldn’t realistically put off sleeping for much longer.

She’d been oddly reluctant to leave him that evening, to return to the room she’d been sleeping in for almost a month now (except for last night).

She didn’t mention her reluctance to Harry, of course. She wasn’t sure what had prompted it, either. (Could she blame being pregnant? Would that work for _everything_ from now on? He’d probably catch on…)

It was okay to need him, but there was a limit to it. She certainly didn’t have to sleep in the same room as him, which was the general direction her thoughts were heading. That seemed above and beyond what she should be asking of him.

She had to be confused – it couldn’t be anything else. Last night, after her nightmare, he’d been there for her in a way no one had been in a long time, so now, after they’d shared another similar moment tonight, it was reminding her of that. How nice it’d been to have him there, how much less alone she’d felt. That didn’t mean she had to make seeking him out a habit.

Because truly, what would he think if she went in there right now and said she wanted to sleep there with him? For no reason, specifically, except for the comfort of him being within arm’s reach?

He might start thinking she was in love with him again. Or that she wanted to escalate their relationship. Or, even worse, he might feel sorry for her thinking she couldn’t even sleep on her own after the nightmares she’d had.

She’d never been the clingy type and there was no way she’d acted like that with him before. She wasn’t going to start now. She had to get a grip on herself.

She reached into the pocket of the sweater she’d tossed on the end of her bed and pulled out the ring she’d been carrying with her all day. She still wasn’t sure what to do with it, or why she hadn’t set it back in the jewelry box for safekeeping.

She couldn’t _wear_ it. That was ridiculous.

(Almost as ridiculous as keeping it in her pocket all day, right?)

Still…

She stared at the engraving, at the infinity symbol between their initials. How much had she loved him that she’d agreed _that_ should be on their wedding rings?

She carefully slid it onto her finger, just to see how it looked, and it oddly felt like it had always been on her hand. Like it had been missing this whole time and she only realized it now, once it was back on. But that made no sense, because Harry had told her she never wore it. Besides, the last time she actually recalled wearing a ring was with Ronnie –

She wrenched it off (ignoring the way her finger hurt from doing so), and put it in the drawer of her nightstand, angrily slamming it shut. It wasn’t a betrayal to be married to someone else. It _wasn’t_. She refused to give any weight to the sudden, unfair thought that had flashed across her mind.

Things had been different here. _She’d_ been different. She could not – _would not_ – feel guilty about that. Nor would she hate herself for it.

She pressed the fingers of her other hand into the spot where the ring had been, harder than necessary, and used the pain to try and snap herself out of her strange melancholy. She needed to go to sleep. The day had been exhausting, and not only physically. Her emotional conversation with Harry about her pregnancy had completely wrung her out.

So why, despite that, was she wide awake? Sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at the open door, as if she were expecting someone to show up? Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen. She pretended like she wasn’t willing him to appear. Because if he showed up here that meant she didn’t have to go in there and –

He was suddenly in the doorway and she wondered (not for the first time) if he had some kind of psychic connection to her of which she wasn’t aware.

“Hey!” she said excitedly, then realized how she sounded and purposely toned her voice down. “I mean…hey.”

He seemed confused, though he didn’t mention it. “I came to say good night. That is, if you’re going to bed?”

 _Was she?_ It didn’t feel like it. “Yes, I am. Thanks. I mean, good night.”

He didn’t go anywhere and she looked away from him. She kept forgetting the way he could read her, the advantage he had that she didn’t share.

Why wasn’t he leaving?

When the silence stretched even longer, she cast about for anything she could say to break it. “Did I ever tell you where I got this bedroom set?” It was the question she’d almost asked him weeks ago, before she’d decided she was too tired to tell the story if he’d never heard it. For some reason, being tired didn’t seem like a deterrent tonight.

He came over to sit on the bed a few feet from her. “Shopping with your dad. A Christmas present when you were 15. But you never said more than that.”

She felt a sudden rush at being able to tell him something for the first time – that they _both_ remembered as the first time. “I left it at home when I moved in with Ronnie. We used his stuff because he already had his own apartment. I went right from living at home to living with him, there was no transition period in between where I had to do things on my own. When he died, it was the first time I’d ever lived alone.” ( _Forget just living, it was the first time she’d done_ a lot _of things alone_.)

Harry said nothing, which encouraged her to continue.

“After he died, _I_ wanted to die.” She noticed him flinch out of the corner of her eye. “But I kept telling myself ‘one day at a time’. Even though it didn’t feel like it, each day got slightly easier. Until one day months had passed and it no longer felt like I was struggling to breathe every day.”

“I know what it’s like to suffocate in those kinds of memories.”

That was something she knew from her own timeline. They hadn’t talked about it much, but on occasion he’d say something that reminded her they’d lived the same kind of loss.

“I know you do,” she acknowledged. “The difference is that he came back.” Her voice cracked a little on the last word. “It was a miracle to me and I thought…finally the world heard me. And it was… Well, it doesn’t matter what it was, because as soon as he was back, he was gone again.” She took a moment to ensure she could keep going. “And I thought the first time was bad.”

“I'm sorry, Caitlin.”

“I went home…after, and I still had all of his things. The first time he’d died, it had been like a comfort. To sleep in the bed we’d shared, the same sheets and blanket and quilt. The same pillows. His clothes in the bureau and closet, some of them touching mine. But the second time? It was all the same, you see, I’d never thrown anything out. And that second time…I couldn’t do it again. What had been a comfort before, it became this…horrific reminder. Just looking into our bedroom was like tearing myself open to relive it.” She glanced up at him, seeing the pain reflected in his eyes; it wasn’t his own pain, though, it was empathy for hers. “I’d already done it once, Harry. What kind of world would make me do it again? _Again_?”

“One that isn’t fair.” He’d looked away, maybe thinking of his own losses. “One that never was.”

“It certainly isn’t,” she agreed. “I couldn’t sleep in that bed anymore. At the time, the pain outweighed the good memories. I called my mother and asked her to ship my entire bedroom set from our house to the apartment.” She laughed, and it was bitter, and sad. “I slept on the couch for six days until this furniture arrived. And I got rid of everything in our bedroom. I never even asked the moving people where it was going, just paid them a fee to get rid of it. I was so furious – at myself, at Ronnie, at the whole  _world_  – that I almost asked them to burn it. Hell, for all I know, they did.”

“Do you regret it?”

She leaned back to rest against the headboard and considered the question. She’d asked herself that many times, but the answer was always the same. “No. It helped me get past it, gave me an outlet to send my rage into the world and let go of it. So I don’t regret it.”

“Believe me, I understand. Needing an outlet. And everything I ever did, good or bad, it all led to being here. With you. So I don’t regret anything, either.”

They sat in silence for a minute and she studied him, appreciative in a way she’d never felt before. Because she’d never talked about this with anyone who could understand it in the same terrible way she did.

“I dreamed about them,” she found herself saying. “The first night back in my old bed, _this_ bed.”

“What happened in the dream?” he asked, which told her this was another thing she’d never shared.

“I hadn’t dreamed of my father in a long time, years maybe. In this dream, we were back in the furniture store where we’d found this set.” She reached up, holding onto the headboard behind her. “I wasn’t a teenager, though, I was an adult. He was older, too, maybe in his 60’s – the age he should have been if he’d been alive. I told him about everything. I cried about losing Ronnie for a second time. He listened to me and then said he was proud of who I’d become. That he loved me. That I’d get past losing Ronnie. That one day I’d be happy again.”

“That sounds like a beautiful dream.”

“It was. I still remember every little detail. Near the end, my dad said he had to go and I begged him not to, but he said he didn't have a choice. As I was telling him he didn't have to leave, Ronnie came into the store and started making fun of me for choosing this furniture, what he called the ‘most basic bedroom set’ there was. He couldn’t believe I’d picked something this traditional because he knew I had much better taste.”

“Debatable,” Harry quipped.

“Shut up,” she laughed, completely derailed. “You’re seriously making me laugh when I’m telling you this poignant dream about my deceased father and husband?”

“Sorry, Snow. The idea of _anyone_ telling you that you have good decorating sense is too much for me to let pass by without comment.”

“The _point_ ,” she paused, watching him to make sure he wasn’t going to interrupt again, “was that Ronnie then told me it was okay that I’d gotten rid of the furniture we had together. That he knew I had to let go of him and move on, whenever I was ready, and changing the furniture was a part of that.”

Harry understood – she could see it. “That dream was your closure.”

“Yes. It had only been a week, and it took me a lot longer to finally be…okay again, but after that initial dream, I _knew_ I eventually would be. It might sound silly to you, but part of me hopes – believes – it was really them. Telling me things would be okay and that I'd be happy again one day.” She glanced at him. “Because they were right.”

She was talking about her own timeline, but she wondered if here, in _this_ one, she might have been much happier than she’d ever realistically thought she could be again.

“There are plenty of things science can’t explain, Snow, and if you ask me, the afterlife is near the top of that list. It’d take far too much hubris to make the definitive statement that it doesn’t exist. It's entirely possible that we haven’t found the evidence yet. Or maybe it’s on such a different plane of existence that any evidence will never be more tangible to us than dreams.”

She dropped her eyes from his. “I thought you might start telling me about the power of our subconscious, how we imagine things that we want to be real, that it shapes how we perceive the world around us…” She knew it wasn’t fair to assume what he’d believe, but she'd been prepared to defend herself and it was…refreshing that she didn’t have to.

“Trying to disprove the afterlife on a scientific basis is not a debate I’m interested in having,” he informed her. “I can tell you don’t need to be convinced one way or the other. Nor do you want to be.”

She echoed his words: “You can tell?”

“I know you.”

“That’s not fair,” she said.

He looked chagrined. “Sorry. I can try not to say things like that. I don’t want you to feel like –”

“No,” she said hastily, amazed he’d interpreted what she’d said in such a wrong way. “It’s not unfair to me. It’s unfair to  _you_. I don't know you even half, a third…a tenth as much as you seem to know me.”

“Oh.” He was thrown completely off-guard. “I’m… It’s okay, Snow.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Well…” He hesitated a few seconds before continuing, “Things will eventually get more even in that department. Besides, I think you know me better than you realize.”

She wasn’t sure about that. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so open-minded about things science can’t explain.”

“Your dream had immense personal significance to you and it helped you heal.  _That’s_  what’s important. Not whether the events of it were ‘real’ in any way science can define.”

She watched him, almost forgetting to breathe. There was no better way to sum up her feelings on the matter – he might as well have been reading her exact thoughts.

If their life had been like this, full of these kinds of moments, and connection, and caring about each other…

Maybe, just maybe, over the past few years…her other self had made far better choices here than she had in her own timeline.

“Why do you think I never told you that before?” she asked, trying to forget where her thoughts had gone. (There was no way she could – _should_ – be thinking things like that after being here for a month. How much of it was residual? Emotions from before, like she’d felt right when she’d woken up here?)

“Maybe you’d moved past it by the time we got together,” he offered, as she struggled to remember the question he was answering. “Maybe it never occurred to you to share it. Or maybe you never had that dream in this timeline. I don’t know.”

“You’re supposed to have all the answers for me,” she accused, lightly.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“I know,” she told him. “That wasn't criticism. More of a poor attempt at a joke.”

“I’m definitely used to your poor attempts at jokes,” he kidded as he stood up, then lingered for a moment at the side of her bed. “I’ll let you get to sleep.”

Right. He was leaving. Because he had his own room. And so did she.

“Night,” she murmured, and this time around, she didn’t have to pretend to be subdued.

“Caitlin…”

“Yeah?” She didn’t look up from where she was staring intently at her hands. Her left ring finger, to be precise.

“If you ever felt like… What I mean is, I’m always here. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, you live here.” She was trying for teasing, and knew even as she spoke that she was failing miserably.

He was staring at her, straight through her, like he knew everything. (She thought sometimes he actually did.) “It’s not weakness, you know. It takes a certain kind of strength to admit that you need other people. That you’re okay with asking for it.”

“Like you?” she shot back. “Because you don’t ask me for anything.”

“Would it help?” he asked. “If I did?”

“Probably,” she said, absently rubbing at her finger (it was still sore from how quickly she’d pulled the ring off before). Once she realized what she was doing, she dropped her hands, afraid he might have seen.

“Alright then.” He put his arms behind his back, and she had the fleeting thought of how it always seemed he did that when he was trying not to touch her. “Last night, sleeping in the same bed as you, that was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in over a month. So if you ever wanted to do it again, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

She swallowed. “Okay. I’ll…keep it in mind.”

“Okay,” he repeated, quietly. It seemed like he was debating whether to say more or let it go, and the latter must have won out, since he took a few steps back. “Good night, Snow.”

“Good night,” she said, as he left.

She considered his offer, analyzing it every which way, and came to the conclusion that what he’d said was simply the honest truth.

Would it make her weak to go in there, like she’d been trying to tell herself? Or was he right? Did it actually take strength to admit that it’d be easier with someone else? More importantly, was she willing to reach out for it?

Because she wasn’t happy in here alone. And he hadn’t quite been asking, but…

That was as close as she’d ever seen from him. Here. The way they were now.

Before she’d even made a conscious decision, she was out of bed, leaving the room and walking the short distance down the hall to come to a stop in his doorway. This had been _their_ room. And probably, in his mind, still was and always would be.

She hovered at the threshold, half in and half out. He was searching one of the bureau drawers and hadn’t seen her yet and she could still leave but…there was so much in her that _didn’t want to_.

“You can come in,” he said, without looking at her. “You can stay if you want, too.”

She was mildly surprised that he’d sensed she was there, and took a few steps into the room. “I don’t…”

He turned to face her, waiting.

“I’m tired of being alone,” she heard herself saying, voice a lot shakier than she’d thought it would be.

He nodded and she wondered if it was merely in acknowledgement, or if it was in agreement that he felt the same. He waved a hand at the bed in invitation, and once she sat down, he said, “You’re not alone here.”

“You’ve said that before.”  _More than once_.

“Does that mean I can’t say it again?”

She shook her head. “Say it as much as you want.” Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d ever get tired of hearing it.

He must have been ready for bed, since he directed the AI system to turn off the lights and turn on some white noise, in a near identical replay of the night before. Only this time, the light in the hallway was off, too, so it was dim enough that even the orange comforter couldn’t reflect any light.

She waited for him to get into the other side of the bed before allowing herself to lie down. Last night, she’d felt much more at ease and couldn’t understand her sudden tension. She _wanted_ to be there, so why was she so anxious?

Maybe the stakes hadn’t been as high the night before? Or maybe it was because she’d had a _real_ excuse last night – to try and avoid more nightmares. But now…her only reasoning was not wanting to be alone.

And she’d said as much. Out loud.

She hoped it hadn’t seemed as sad to him as it did to her, right then.

“Stop thinking and go to sleep,” he ordered, words startlingly loud over the quiet hum of white noise coming from hidden speakers.

“I am,” she said, more sharply than she’d intended, and she winced at how she’d automatically gone to anger to cover her embarrassment at coming here in the first place. (And how did he know what she was doing, anyways?)

She inched toward the side of the bed, much closer than was safe, in fact. And there was enough room between her and Harry to fit four more people, easily. But it was like moving closer to him was an admission of too many things.

Coming in here had already been more than she’d thought she was capable of.

“You might as well sleep on the floor,” he told her. “Since moving another inch means that’s where you’re going to end up.”

“I like it on the edge,” she tried to claim. “It’s…freeing.”

“Yeah, falling three feet to the floor will be very ‘freeing’ for you.”

“I don’t fall off things, okay?”

“You fell of the couch while you were asleep a few weeks ago,” he reminded her. Annoyingly.

“That was a fluke! Caused by the…changing timelines. Or whatever.” She stared up at the ceiling (which she couldn't see) and wondered how awful this idea had been. “Maybe if you stopped talking, I could sleep.”

She turned onto her side, facing away from him, and miscalculated to the point that she almost _did_ go tipping off the side of the bed. Thankfully, she caught herself at the last second and was flooded with relief – not at preventing the fall, but at sparing herself a lecture from him about how right he’d been. (He was right too often already – she didn’t need to give him anything _else_ to be right about.)

While she was imagining his hypothetical gloating, he reached over, grasping her around the middle, and pulled her away from the side of the bed.

“Hey!” she yelped, stifling a gasp when she was flooded with an overwhelming sensation of tingling warmth that spread from her head to her toes. She tried to glare at him, but it had virtually no effect in the darkness – and especially not when her head was still swimming from even that brief action on his part.

“I’m only thinking of your well-being,” he said. He’d immediately let go of her once he got her where he wanted, maybe a foot away from him.

She briefly considered moving back, if only to prove a point (she wasn’t above staying uncomfortable out of spite), but he was _right there_ , so close she could feel the warmth of him. It killed any fleeting thought she’d had of putting more space between them.

A few minutes passed and she was already hovering in that space between awake and asleep when he spoke again.

“Caitlin?”

“Hmm.”

“You know how we don’t really touch each other?”

She turned her head and could barely make out the shape of him. “Yeah?”

“We used to. A lot.”

There was something in his words that made her…she wasn’t sure what, exactly. _Sad_ seemed about the closest word. “Cisco told me as much.”

“I don’t want to cross any lines,” he began, “but I was wondering if…” He trailed off, then spoke again. “I’m not doing that well. Without you.”

The statement was incredibly close to what he’d said the previous night, about having trouble sleeping without her. And she suddenly knew that it had cost him a lot to admit that – and this, too. It was something she’d been asking of him for a while, to be completely honest with her. And he’d been hesitant, not wanting to put any pressure on her or make her feel obligated towards anything when it came to him. So for him to admit something this personal? Especially when it was the kind of thing he’d probably felt comfortable telling her before? It made her want to say ‘yes’ to whatever he was asking.

“Harry,” she murmured, not quite sure what to say, since he hadn’t actually asked her anything yet. But she had a pretty good idea where he was going.

“I try, every day, not to touch you. To minimize any contact between us as much as possible. I’m not always successful – tonight and last night were exceptions, for their own reasons – but…I _do_ try.” He took a deep breath. “What I’m getting at, is if you’re okay with it, I think it’d help me. To touch you more. To not question and analyze every time if the circumstances warrant it _enough_ for me to risk it. Because honestly, every time I do, I always think that’s going to be the time you pull away.”

She shut her eyes, realization – and _guilt_ – crashing into her like a sudden storm. She’d had no idea he felt that way every time he reached out to her. That he always carefully weighed the pros and cons before deciding if it’d be okay. And to always be afraid that she’d reject any affection from him? When she actually found herself wanting it more every day? She felt like the worst kind of person.

How hadn’t she known? How hadn’t she _seen_ it?

He was telling her he needed her. He was asking for her _permission_. He could have simply increased the frequency of their contact slowly, which she would have easily accepted. (Happily, even.) But no, he was asking her. Because he was so concerned about her feelings on the matter that he wanted to be 100% certain she’d be okay with it before he initiated anything more than he’d already done.

She was understanding – more every day – why she’d married this man.

“I think it’d help you, too,” he whispered, and she realized she’d taken too long to answer. He probably thought she was going to say no.

She closed the gap between them, until she was pressed up against his side. They were both lying on their backs, but she could still feel the tension leave him at her touch.

“That’s a yes, then?” he asked.

She nodded, and upon realizing he couldn’t see it, she pressed her head against his shoulder. “It helps me, too,” she confirmed, by way of an answer, because it was a truth she already knew – she’d realized it the night before, after her nightmare.

He sighed and turned slightly onto his side, perhaps so he could more easily reach his hand over and rest it near her hip. Since she was hyper-aware, the heat of it felt searing, even through her shirt.

He’d frozen, as if waiting to see how she’d react – if she was _really_ okay with it, like she’d claimed.

In answer, she put her own hand over his, and she missed whatever his reaction might have been when she was once again overcome with that dizzy, overwhelming sensation that she’d felt before, after he’d pulled her across the bed. Her head spun, and she unconsciously gripped his hand tighter, grateful she was lying down.

This night was definitely different than the one before. She didn’t think they’d so much as accidentally touched in their sleep the previous night. And now…

It took a few moments for her to realize he was speaking again. “You never have to worry that I’m going to do anything you might think of as…asking for more.”

She nodded in acknowledgement of that, knowing he could feel it against his shoulder.

“So if you ever got to a place where you wanted that, you’d have to talk to me about it first.” She felt him shrug. “Or you could always throw yourself at me. I probably wouldn’t push you away.”

“ _Probably_?” She didn’t bother hiding her blatant skepticism.

“I do need my space sometimes, Snow.” He stretched beside her and she noticed how tired he sounded. (It felt surprisingly normal. All of it.) “You can’t have me all the time.”

He sounded so damn haughty that it was all she could do not to laugh again. “You sure about that?”

There was a moment of silence. “Maybe if you begged me, I’d be open to changing my mind. I’d have to sense you really meant it, though.”

“What are you sensing right now, Harry?”

“Mild exasperation,” he said, without hesitating. “Wait, I want to revise… Extreme exasperation.”

“With you it’s _always_ extreme exasperation,” she mumbled, knowing he had to hear the smile in her voice.

“Then I know I’m doing something right. That’s definitely how you always felt.”

“For someone who wanted to sleep," she reminded him, “you’re sure talking an awful lot.”

“You haven’t noticed that’s what I do?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed.”

He laughed quietly, and when he fell silent, she allowed herself to relax more fully against his side. She couldn’t remember anymore why she’d been so hesitant about joining him in the first place.

She was certain he’d fallen asleep, and she was close, as well, when she felt him move his hand – she thought he might be doing it in his sleep. Slightly over, and then down a little, and where it finally rested, on her abdomen –

He was wide awake. And he knew exactly what he was doing.

“You’re supposed to give me six more years,” she accused, in a somewhat broken whisper. She didn’t know if anyone had ever made her want to cry this much before in her life. (And why didn’t she hate him for it?)

“Full disclosure,” he murmured, against her temple. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.”

She pressed her eyes shut as tightly as she could, trying to stave off her emotions.

Did it matter, though, if he knew? If he saw them? He’d already seen so much.

(And those were only the times she remembered.)

“You make me feel too many things,” she said, finally. She didn’t list them, because she wasn’t sure if she _could_ , not accurately enough. Not in her current state.

“Only fair,” he replied, easily. “You do the same for me.” And he wasn’t questioning her, he wasn’t demanding an explanation, he was just…letting her be. Which was exactly what she needed.

She hummed quietly in response, secure in the knowledge that she’d made the right decision tonight. And there was no way she could ever go back to sleeping alone in the other room again.

She moved even closer to him (if that were possible) and she was truly content for the first time in…she wasn’t sure how long. All she knew was that it had been a long time.

She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bear with me for the first part, I assure you this is the correct next chapter!
> 
> After this, Caitlin’s pregnancy will take a backseat - the story does not revolve around it, though it remains an important theme. (This story could alternately be summarized as “two people fall in love for the second time.” And it has a ways to go, still!)

Someone kneed Caitlin in the ribs. _Hard_.

Hissing in pain, she snapped her eyes open to find the smiling face of a three-year-old. No, not just any three-year-old. _Her_ three-year-old. With his dark, slightly curling hair, bright blue eyes, and face the picture of perfect innocence that let him get away with far too much.

Like deciding that throwing himself onto the bed – and her, by consequence – was the most effective way to wake her.

“We’ve talked about this,” she scolded, grimacing as she rubbed her side. Upon seeing she was in actual pain, his smile faded, too.

“Sorry,” he said, sheepishly. “It’s late.”

A glance at the clock told her it was no such thing. “It’s barely past 7.”

“Late!” he exclaimed, apparently over any guilt he might have felt at accidentally injuring her. “I want pancakes.” When she simply stared at him, waiting, he added, “Please?”

She vaguely recalled promising she’d make them this morning – but not at such an ungodly hour. She turned to find Harry sleeping on the other side of the bed…or so he pretended. “Harrison Wells.” No reaction, which didn’t surprise her. (He was good, but she was better.) “I know you’re awake.”

“He’s awake,” their son confirmed, eyeing Harry critically (and the expression was so much _his father’s_ that Caitlin’s breath caught for a moment).

She fought back a smile and nodded over towards Harry, silently telling the boy to wake his father the way he’d done to her; when he launched himself across the bed, Harry shot his arms out to grab him, thereby protecting himself at the last second.

“I knew it!” Caitlin cheered, mostly ecstatic at being right, and the boy repeated her words, going on about how he also ‘knew’ that Harry had been awake.

In response, Harry dragged him into a hug and muttered, “Good morning to you, too,” into his hair. Then he started tickling him in retaliation and the boy shrieked with laughter, trying to break free.

“I’ll save you,” Caitlin promised, as the child flung himself back towards her and she wrapped him in her arms. She didn’t tickle him, but instead pressed kiss after kiss to his face and neck, smothering him until he was laughing just as hard as he had been with Harry, and trying to twist away from her, too. She finally let him go and he sat back on his heels between them, trying to catch his breath. The gleam in his eyes meant he wasn’t sure which of his parents to go after next – and Caitlin could tell the moment he decided she was the easier target.

He’d decided to copy his father’s tactics and kept diving to tickle her as she held her arms out, desperate to keep him at bay without unintentionally hurting him.

“A little help here?” she managed to get out, amidst her own laughter, since Harry had been doing nothing to assist, though she heard him laughing in the background at her misfortune. He finally obliged, grasping the boy by his ankle and pulling him back to the middle of the bed.

Caitlin took a few breaths, rubbing at her ribs which still hurt, and watched as Harry subdued their crazy, amazing, evil, wonderful three-year-old.

“Calm down,” Harry ordered, pressing a hand to his chest to pin him to the bed, which obviously made the boy fight even harder to escape. (Yeah, he was his father’s son, alright.) Upon recognizing his tactic was failing, Harry deliberately dropped his voice to say, conspiratorially, “I have a surprise for you.” The tone earned him instant compliance.

“Pancakes?” he asked his father, hopefully.

“No. Well, yes,” Harry amended. “But not yet. Guess who’s here? Upstairs?”

The boy’s eyes widened, pure joy crossing his face before Harry had even finished his questions. “Jesse?!”

“Yes, your sister’s here. And Wally. And all the rest, I’m sure.” The child was already scrambling off the bed. “Go wake whoever you can find and one of them will make you pancakes, I promise.”

He was already gone when Harry laid back down mumbling something about morning coming at the worst of times.

Caitlin turned on her side to face him. “Pretty cruel wake-up call to send the others at –” she checked the clock again, “– 7:14 in the morning.”

“Part of the price for staying at our hotel,” he said, without opening his eyes. “I estimate we have ten minutes of peace. Or thereabouts.”

“Your estimate is extremely high,” Caitlin informed him, and right on cue, they heard very faint yelling from somewhere above them, followed by what was probably a slamming door, and then laughter.

“Eight minutes,” he revised. “Okay…six? Whose idea was it to have children, again?”

“That was all you,” she said lightly. “I have no memory of those discussions, remember?”

“Still playing the timeline card after four years?”

“It’s valid,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Besides, we only have _one_ child together. He’s not so difficult. No more than say…you are.”

That earned her the kind of disapproving look that always tempted her to kiss him. He (somehow) refrained from commenting on it though, settling for, “Snow, I’m pretty sure we have six children in this house.”

“Harry, everyone on our team is brilliant.” A distant crash sounded and she barely managed to hide her wince. “I’m sure that was an accident,” she added, before he could use it to prove his point.

He propped himself up on an elbow to face her. “An accident that probably has a hefty price tag to fix, as usual. I’m going to start sending those bills to Ramon, by the way. Whether it’s his fault or not.”

“No, you’re not.”

He didn’t bother arguing, choosing instead to study her. “How come you’re always fine when our son wakes you, but if anyone else does, they’re suddenly your sworn, mortal enemy?”

“Oh, see, I actually _love_ him,” she said smartly, and one second she was watching Harry across the bed, the next he’d flipped her over and she was staring up at him in surprise. Her heart flipped, too, the way it always did with him. (She kept waiting for that to go away and it hadn’t so far, not in four years.)

He leaned down to accuse, “Just him, huh?”

She had to take a moment to remember what he was referring to. “I never said ‘just’.”

He’d moved to press a kiss to her neck, so she felt him smile against her skin. “You know, I was thinking, it might be the right time…”

“Hmm?” she murmured, beyond distracted.

“To have more.”

Warmth filled her, starting somewhere around her heart and then spreading outward, everywhere, from her head to her feet, until she was practically tingling from the heat of it. Having more children was an idea they’d talked about many times, but never committed to. Right then and there, though, she thought she’d never heard anything better.

“The one we already have is just about perfect,” she breathed.

“Which means we owe it to the world,” he told her, as if it weren’t even a question.

“Or…we could adopt,” she suggested, as it was an idea she’d long wanted, and while he’d never opposed, per se, he’d never actually agreed to it, either.

He’d pushed himself up so he could meet her eyes. “We could do both.”

She put her arms around his neck and debated pulling him down, thought about kissing him deep and slow, and some remote part of her mind told her this was awful timing because – because why, again?

“We have a houseful of people,” she managed to get out, remembering at the last second, before she – or he – initiated something they’d have extreme difficulty stopping. “We have two minutes, tops, before they’re back down here.”

“Baby,” he smirked, “that’s twice as long as I need.”

She abruptly started laughing, which was probably his intention since he rolled away from her to sit up – and that actually _was_ fortuitous timing because they heard slight bickering from the hall and then Jesse was in their open doorway (the door their son _never_ bothered to close on his way out). She was holding her younger brother, his arms looped around her neck and his head resting on her shoulder.

“Which of you sent this demon child upstairs?” she demanded, though the smile on her face belied the sternness of her words. “Because whoever it is will _pay_.”

Harry didn’t even hesitate. “It was Snow.”

“No,” the child said mischievously, shaking his head. “It was daddy.”

“Traitors.” It was one of Harry’s favorite laments. “I’m surrounded by them.”

“Watch yourself or I’m going to sic him back on you,” Jesse warned, even as she seemed in no hurry to let go of the boy – nor he in any hurry to leave her arms.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Cisco appeared in the doorway next to Jesse. “I heard someone was making me pancakes. That’s the only reason I got out of bed, by the way.”

Wally wandered up to the small group in the doorway and half-waved at Caitlin and Harry, seeming as if he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Morning,” Caitlin greeted everyone. “Harry will be cooking for you.”

“Uh, no,” Harry protested, before strategically adding, “Jesse makes pancakes _so_ much better.”

“Yes, Jesse!” their son cheered. “I want Jesse.”

Jesse’s glare at her father was almost as formidable as his, but she didn’t deny that she’d make breakfast – she’d do anything for her brother.

“There a party going on in here?” Barry asked, appearing at the back of the group.

Harry heaved a sigh. “Is there a reason everyone’s in our bedroom?”

Wally looked around in new recognition. “I didn’t even register where I was,” he mumbled, like maybe he’d even forgotten whose _house_ he was in. He automatically reached out for the child leaning over to him, so far out of Jesse’s arms by then that he would have fallen if Wally hadn’t taken him. “Where’s Iris?”

“Ah, Iris.” Barry proceeded to tick items off on his fingers: “She can’t believe we’d willingly get up this early on a weekend, she can’t believe how cheerful we all are, and if I don’t bring her coffee then she’s going to leave me. That was about the point she started throwing pillows and I booked it out of there.”

“Same as usual then,” Cisco said, and it really was par for the course.

Harry was nodding in approval. “She’s the only one of you with any sense.”

“Hey, I’d like you to take a moment to appreciate that we’re all awake and willing to cook breakfast for _your_ child,” Barry reminded him. “While you’re still in bed.”

“Pancakes,” the boy reminded them impatiently, in case they’d forgotten, and when Jesse made a move threatening to tickle him, he yelled, “Please!”

“When did you get so heavy?” Wally asked him, now resting sideways against the doorframe.

“Yeah, stop growing up on us,” Barry chided, promptly taking him from Wally, perhaps in concern his friend was going to collapse.

“I got like two hours of sleep last night,” Wally muttered, as Jesse rubbed his arm in sympathy.

“Is that so?” Cisco asked suggestively, winking at him and Jesse in turn.

Wally snapped more to attention at that. “No! What? That’s not what I mean.” He sent Harry a wary look. “I’m a restless sleeper sometimes, that’s all.”

“Restless,” Cisco repeated slyly. “Riiiiight.”

“Cisco,” Jesse said, in a tone Caitlin herself often used, as she elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Shut it.”

Barry was whispering something to the young boy that caused him to laugh, and Caitlin grinned at the sight. Little in the world brought her more joy than seeing how much her friends loved her child – how much they treated him like he was their own.

The exchange had also gotten Cisco’s attention. “How come everyone gets a hug and I get nothing?” he complained, as Barry willingly handed the boy over – Cisco staggered in an exaggerated fashion and it caused the child to start giggling. “Wally’s right, you _are_ getting heavy.”

“Maybe you’re just weak, Ramon,” Harry suggested.

Cisco hugged the child tighter. “Maybe I’m going to teach him everything I know –”

“How long would that take,” Harry interjected. “A half hour?”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Cisco narrowed his eyes. “Everything I know in order to _make your life miserable_.”

Harry gave the group in the doorway a lingering look. “Too late for that.”

Caitlin nudged his arm. “We make you miserable, huh? Good to know.”

“You’re my one and only exception,” he dramatically swore.

“Ahem,” Jesse said, excessively loud. “Your two children are right here. I think we warrant being exceptions, too!”

“You’d think, wouldn’t you?” Harry kept his face carefully blank, as Jesse rolled her eyes and Caitlin pushed him backwards in solidarity. (If they never stood up to him together, they’d never have a chance.) Their eyes met and the heat in his made her suddenly regret, with everything in her, that almost their entire team had slept over the night before. And were _still_ in their bedroom.

“We’ll go cook,” Cisco said hastily, and Caitlin wagered that he’d probably seen the glance she and Harry shared. “You two can get back to…uh…nothing. Since I’m sure you weren’t doing anything before we came down here.”

“We were sleeping,” Harry said dryly.

“Yes,” Cisco was clearly relieved. “Sleep. That’s it.”

Harry waved a hand at them and the group instantly scattered, presumably heading for the kitchen. “Why doesn’t that work all the time?” he asked, staring at his hand, aggrieved.

“You realize our son woke them at 7 in the morning…and then what happened? They ended up fighting over who got to hold him.” Caitlin was somewhat in awe of his charms. (Though maybe she shouldn’t be.) “He has everyone wrapped around his finger.”

“Thank God he inherited that quality from you. It’ll serve him well in life.”

Caitlin had to laugh at that. “Are you kidding me? Any of our team would do _anything_ for you.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You included?”

“I could be persuaded,” she hummed. “For the right price.”

“Still paying to keep you here after all these years.”

“But I’m worth it, right?” She was met with conspicuous silence, and repeated, “ _Right_?”

“Let me think on it.”

“I’m going to sleep for a few more minutes,” Caitlin huffed, unimpressed, and shut her eyes. A moment later, she was hit with a pillow that had her sputtering and throwing it back in his direction – it wildly missed. “What, are you taking tips from Iris now?”

“If I have to suffer,” he declared, “then you have to suffer.”

“How about we forget about _everyone_ and go back to sleep,” she suggested as a peace offering. “I have a reasonable belief they’ll keep our kid alive.”

He looked like he’d been about to get up when her suggestion gave him an excuse to ditch that idea entirely. “That…actually works much better for me.”

“They’re going to come looking for us eventually, though,” she warned, as she moved over to lay against his side. “They know where to find us.”

“About that,” he muttered, “we should move.”

“They’d follow us,” she told him. “Anywhere.”

“I know they would,” he replied quietly, breath stirring her hair. And she smiled to herself that he didn’t sound upset about that. At all.

When Caitlin opened her eyes again that morning (or rather, for the first time), it took her a minute to put everything together, needing to reorient herself. She ran a hand over her ribs, but there was no pain, only an echo of it in her mind. Harry was sleeping on the other side of the bed. There was no one else in the house. No one had woken them. They didn’t have a child.

At least…she let her hand drift down to her stomach briefly…not yet.

That had been a dream – an incredibly elaborate and vivid one, but a dream, nonetheless.

It was the kind of dream that shook her to wake up from.

She sat up in bed, staring at the closed door, almost imagining she could see her friends standing there, much too sunny and cheerful for so early in the morning. Almost like if she concentrated hard enough she might hear them cooking and laughing and chasing her son around in the kitchen.

She had to wonder…how close to reality would that ever be? Because she’d never had a dream that felt so realistic, but also so…possible. She knew none of it was real, that it had been her mind creating a scenario for where her future life might go, but in that dream…she had definitely loved Harry. And that child, _their_ child – what she’d felt for him – she’d never felt anything like it before in her life. There was simply nothing she could compare it to. It was already fading, but she tried to hold onto the memory.

“What is it?” Harry asked from behind her, and she could feel his eyes on her back.

She turned to him, and seeing his face, lined with concern, oddly helped her to shake off the hazy sense of loss. “A dream. That’s all.”

He sat up, too. “Doesn’t sound like that’s all. Was it a nightmare? I usually wake up when –”

“Nothing like that,” she assured. “The opposite, actually.”

He relaxed slightly (and she tried not to think about how her nightmares were his nightmares, too). “Want to tell me about it?”

Did she? She wasn’t sure. But… “It was the future. We were woken up by our…son.”

“Yeah?”

The easy way he said it encouraged her to keep talking. “There’s not much to tell. It was a normal morning.” She suddenly laughed. “Oh, and the rest of our team was here, sleeping upstairs.”

“We can’t even escape them in dreams, can we?” he sighed, over dramatically.

“You sent our kid to go wake them. At 7 something in the morning.”

“Now _that_ sounds like justice to me, however slight.” Harry seemed to be taking too much pride in his dream-self. “What was his name?”

She blinked in mild surprise. “I don’t know. No one ever said it; I didn’t even think it in the dream itself. I didn’t find that odd, either.”

“Hmm, names… I actually have the perfect one in mind.”

She knew what it was because she knew _him_. “Let me guess,” she said flatly. “It’s Harrison Wells.”

He pointed from her head to his. “It’s like we have the same mind, Snow.”

“The world doesn’t need two of you. I can barely handle one.”

“Technically, if you consider the multi-verse –”

“No,” she interrupted. “There is only one of _you_.”

He grinned at that, probably hearing the affection in her tone. “It is a great name, though. You say it all the time.”

“Usually because I’m trying to make a point that you refuse to see,” she told him, archly. “Besides, you’re forgetting that it could be a girl.” He was about to speak. “If the next suggestion out of your mouth is _Harriet_ , I’m out of here.”

“It actually wasn’t,” he said (probably lying), “but…I like it.”

“No!” she said firmly, as her thoughts wandered back to the dream. “It was just…one of those dreams that feels real. Like it _could_ have been a visit to the future.” She frowned. “That’s not possible, is it?”

“I want to outright dismiss the idea, but when it comes to us and timelines?” he sounded more than a little hesitant. “I have no idea what is or isn’t possible anymore. Guess we’ll have to wait…how long?”

“Around four years, I think.”

“Four years it is, then. We’ll wait and see if it happens.” He watched her carefully. “Though you realize that means you’d have to actually stick around for that long?”

“If you entice me enough, I might not be opposed,” she teased, hearing the echoes of what she’d told him in her dream.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “So you’re feeling better today? About…?”

“I think so, yes. One night isn’t going to change everything, but thank you for…all that you said yesterday. And for…” she gestured between them, “being here.”

“I’ll always be here,” he assured, and she was going to mention that he’d said that before, too, but it was another thing she liked to hear. He seemed to know whenever she needed him to repeat things like that and the last thing she wanted was to discourage it.

So instead, all she said was, “I appreciate that.”

He smiled a little. “Anything else you want to share about the dream?” He was carefully masking it, but the genuine curiosity she heard coming through made her wonder if he might be more on the side of thinking it _could_ possibly be real than he’d been letting on.

“Everyone says the love you have for your child is like nothing else, and I can imagine it in some kind of abstract way. I picture the love I have for the closest people in my life and think it’ll be like that, just…more. In this dream, it was almost like I could actually _feel_ it. Like I would… Like in that dream I’d have died for him in an instant and that still doesn’t adequately describe how much I loved him. Not even close.”

“That actually describes it pretty well,” he murmured.

“Truthfully…” She fell back onto the pillows behind her, unsure if she could convey to him exactly how she felt. “It’s confusing and complicated and part of me is still conflicted on how I should feel versus how I _actually_ feel. But it’s like now…” She pictured the dream, remembered everything she’d felt for the child her mind had imagined. If she could feel that in a _dream_ , what would she feel actually meeting him? Or her?

“Now?” he prompted.

“It’s not so much that I feel excited right this instant as it is that I believe I _will_ feel that way. Eventually.” She shivered when he reached over to brush his fingers on the back of her hand. “It’s a welcome relief after so much…nothingness.”

They sat in silence for another minute or two, perhaps neither of them quite wanting to let go of that moment.

“Harry…”

She thought he might have been falling asleep again, but he opened his eyes upon hearing his name. “Yeah?”

“Do you think it’s possible to love someone who’s not even here yet?” Her question was unexpectedly serious, in a way she hadn’t intended.

“Yes,” he said solemnly, answering with as much gravity as she’d used. “I _know_ it’s possible.” He paused briefly before adding, “Because I already do.”

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin expected they might have some last minute things to do for Thanksgiving, but pretty much everything was done. She did make a valiant effort to try and clean and was surprised to find that their house was mostly immaculate (and maybe she would have noticed sooner if she’d ever _actually_ attempted to clean before, but…that was neither here nor there).

She’d sought Harry out to give him credit, only for him to frown at her and ask how had she lived there for a month and not known that a cleaning service came a couple times a week while they were at work? She’d thought _that_ was a joke, too, until he showed her an actual bill for it.

(She’d made sure to tell him that her not knowing was his fault because he made too many jokes – she simply never knew when he was serious; sometimes she genuinely had to guess.)

Harry was busy most of the day, even went in to work, and she was glad for once to have the house to herself to decompress. Her thoughts drifted to the past couple nights more often than not. There were just too many things to sort through.

She’d meant what she told him, that she was in a much better place than she’d been the previous day, and there were two reasons for that. The first was her dream, which showed her what it might be like to choose to spend the rest of her life here. The second was Harry.

He was the most important factor, obviously. Especially since he made up such a big part of the first reason – how happy she’d been in her dream with him. How happy she was _now_ with him. The more she thought about it, the more she could believe that having a child would only bring more love and joy into both of their lives. Not that it wouldn’t have its share of challenges, too, but in the end…

Well, she’d always wanted children. She’d never denied that, not even when she’d been in complete shock the night before.

So whenever she thought of the future and found herself smiling…yeah, that was an immense relief.

She talked to Iris briefly, letting her know how things had gone the night before, and almost told her about the dream, but then held off. (For some reason, it felt like too much to share.) She did tell her that she was feeling better about everything – she knew she still needed more time (it all felt a little too surreal), but she no longer wondered if she’d be okay. She knew she would be, even if it took a while to get to the stage of excitement that she’d have been at if she remembered everything about her previous life here.

As the day wore on, she got increasingly apprehensive and tried not to think about the reason: she didn’t know how to tell Harry that she didn’t want to sleep in her own room anymore. She wasn’t sure why the thought of talking to him about it made her panic slightly. Telling him she wanted to make their sleeping arrangements permanent felt like a significant step to her. Like maybe it was _too close_ to the way they’d been…

And maybe that would make him remember – and miss – the person she’d been before.

That would hurt him, and the thought of hurting him, even inadvertently, was simply unacceptable.

As a result, she went back and forth most of the day on whether she should bring it up and never came to a decision. She tried her best to act normally, though she could tell he picked up on her unnatural quietness when he got home. And during dinner. And then after, when she retreated to the library and he went to their office.

She figured (hoped) he thought she was trying to adjust to everything that had happened the past few days.

She tried to read, got stuck on page 37 of some random crime novel she’d pulled from a shelf, and then ended up falling asleep because she was putting off going to bed for so long.

“Caitlin Snow,” someone whispered from above her, and she barely managed to stop herself from leaping off the couch in shock. (Thankfully, her subconscious mind recognized his voice before her conscious mind did.)

“It should be illegal how you do that,” she griped, refusing to open her eyes. “The sneaking around.”

“I walked in here and said your name,” he countered, and she heard the smile in the words despite not looking at him (and how she loved that). “It’s not my fault you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she lied.

“Sorry. It’s not my fault you were lying on the sofa, breathing evenly with your eyes closed.” When she finally opened her eyes, she found he had his hands pressed to the back of the sofa, looking down at her. “I would have left you alone, but it won’t be comfortable for you to sleep here all night.”

“It won’t?” she challenged, completely ignoring how right he was. “I don’t know about that. I’m younger than you.”

“Snow –”

“ _Much_ younger.”

“Knew I should have left you here,” he muttered, coming around to sit on the coffee table in front of her. The electric fireplace crackling behind him cast them both in a warm glow that Caitlin swore she felt more inside than out. “Too bad I’m cursed to care about people so much.”

Normally she might have argued that, but in the moment, she simply couldn’t. She didn’t have it in her to counter him, even teasingly – not when everything he did proved that what he said was true (even if he’d said it as a joke).

“I’m not tired,” she told him, stretching her arms over her head and nearly hitting the lamp on the end table behind her.

“Mmhmm. You look not tired.”

“I’m not.”

“I usually sleep when I’m not tired, too.”

“You can drop the sarcasm.”

“…Can I?”

“No, probably not.” She considered him. “You’d cease to exist, it’s so much a part of your identity.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” He was genuinely confused.

“Ha, not really, no.” Should she admit the next part? Ah, what the hell. “I like it, actually.”

“You give as good as you get,” he reminded her (and it was surprising that he wasn’t running away with her admission, as he often loved to do). “Are you coming to bed?”

She waited for the punchline, but it never came. She studied his face, mostly in darkness because of the relatively dim lighting coupled with the shadows thrown from the fireplace. She could see enough, though, to tell that there was no other motive in him. Nothing aside from his genuine question.

She shut her eyes at the next realization: he’d known why she wasn’t being herself, why she’d been off that evening. He’d _known_. Because he knew her. No matter how many times she tried to remind herself of that fact, it was like she kept forgetting it.

Trying to hide things from him never worked – it hadn’t even in her own timeline. He’d always figured it out, whether he pressed her to talk or simply let it go when she needed.

“I didn’t…” She cleared her throat. “I didn’t know how to ask. Not again.”

“Caitlin. You don’t have to ask. Ever.” He held out a hand. “Don’t you see that by now?”

She raised her own hand to take his, letting him pull her to a sitting position. “I guess not. I was worried about asking for a third night in a row. What it’d mean to turn it from an occasional thing…” she felt her heart start to race, “…into maybe a permanent thing. There’s a difference, you know?”

“I do know,” he said, moving his hand up to run over the side of her face. “You don’t have to be scared of it, though. Not when it comes to me. Not when I’d much rather you were by my side than not.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she admitted, before she could lose the bravery she’d momentarily found. “I don’t want you to feel like I’m close to how I used to be, but…not close enough. I don’t want to remind you of what you’re missing.”

“I don’t feel that way. And I meant what I told you before. Everything we do is your choice, on your timetable. I’ll accept whatever you decide.”

“I know, but –”

He raised his voice to cut her off, like this next part was particularly important: “Even if you decide that you’ll only ever want us to be friends.”

She knew how much it must have killed him to think of that possible future. It brought to mind the worst state she’d seen him in, here: that first week, when he’d told her how terrified he was that she was going to leave him.

And he’d just told her that if she eventually chose to do so, he would accept it.

She tried to imagine that. Leaving this house. This life. _Him_. But there was nothing there; the images wouldn’t form.

That was the moment she knew that leaving would hurt her as much as him.

“I’m not leaving,” she said suddenly, _needing_ him to know, despite it not being an actual response to anything he’d said. (She didn’t miss his exhale when she told him, either.) “And we’re definitely more than friends, in my view. Just not…not quite –” She broke off, frustrated at not being able to find the words. Why was this so _hard_?

“I understand.”

“I’m glad one of us does,” she said, in jest. Because lately, she couldn’t figure out her own thoughts half the time. It was disconcerting because she’d always considered herself to be logical and rational. She’d prided herself on it, too, applying the same traits that served her so well in her career to her personal life.

Well. All that had changed. In literally one night.

“Harry, you know that I still have things to work through, to sort out, and accept, but I want you to know that even if I don’t feel exactly the same as before things changed… I can see how I eventually got there.”

His answering smile let her know that even though she hadn’t been sure she could explain it, she’d somehow said exactly what he wanted to hear.

**XXXXXX**

When Harry opened the front door the next day, Barry moved immediately past him, hugging Caitlin with enough force that she had to take a step back.

“Uh, hi Barry,” she said, hugging him, as she found Harry’s eyes over his shoulder and mouthed ‘he knows’.

‘You think?’ he mouthed back, as she patted his back.

“Caitlin, I just wanted to say…” Barry’s eyes seemed suspiciously watery (unless Thanksgiving in general made him overly sentimental in this timeline when it never had before). “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Iris had asked Cisco and Joe to help her get things from the car, so luckily they’d missed Barry’s overly-emotional display. Iris was the first one back in, juggling a basket and a bottle of rum as she came over to save Caitlin.

“Thanks for helping me get stuff from the car, Barry.”

“I was thinking about…” He glanced at Caitlin as he trailed off, chagrined, taking both the rum and the basket from Iris.

“We talked about this,” Iris added, voice low, as she glanced behind her at the open front door to make sure no one else was close enough to witness the scene.

“I was only wishing her a Happy Thanksgiving,” Barry tried to claim.

“Jesse and Wally got here a while ago.” Harry pointed down the hall. “They’re in the kitchen. Where you two are welcome to go. Right now.”

Iris didn’t need to hear the ‘get him out of here’ tone in Harry’s voice to intervene. “I need help,” she said, taking Barry’s arm and gently pushing him ahead of her toward the kitchen. “You’re going to help me.”

“I guess that answers that question,” Caitlin sighed, once they were out of earshot.

“Allen’s even more of a disaster than I thought.” Harry shook his head, obviously unsurprised that the younger man hadn’t been able to hold it together. “It’s up to you on what to do, but…”

“I have to tell them,” she finished, reluctantly. “He might give it away, not to mention how perceptive these people are, in general. And I’d rather everyone heard it from me.”

She wasn’t looking forward to it and had been hoping they could go longer – at least until she felt sure she’d have the same excited reaction she _knew_ they would. It was so…personal. Not the news itself, as everyone had known they wanted children, but her _reaction_ felt so intensely personal. She couldn’t help wondering if it simply…wouldn’t live up to what they expected.

Cisco and Joe entered, laden with more bags, and Harry seemed unimpressed. “You realize we have food, too.” He nodded in the direction of the kitchen to indicate where Iris had gone.

“Blame Iris,” Cisco said, nearly dropping a grocery bag that looked like it was filled with packages of chips and crackers. “I do what I’m told.”

“Since when?” Harry shot back.

Cisco ignored that particular bait. “And I tried to tell her you don’t have to bring this much food to someone’s house when they’re as rich as you two. If anything, you should be buying _us_ food.”

“I do,” Harry grit out. “All the damn time. At work, when you’re here – and I know you sometimes grocery shop in my kitchen, Ramon.”

“I only take stuff when I have nothing at home! Do you want me to starve?”

“Well…”

“Don’t answer that,” Cisco said, heading to the kitchen. “Hey guys,” they heard him yell on his way, “guess how Harry greeted me? By saying he wants me to starve!”

“You’re fired,” Harry shouted down the hall after him.

“You can’t fire him.” Caitlin’s eyes had turned shrewd. “You like him too much.”

“First, how dare you accuse me of liking him.” He leaned closer to her. “Second, don’t ruin this fantasy for me, Snow; I’m pretending that I could _finally_ be free of him at work.”

Joe had been watching the entire exchange with too much enjoyment. “Truthfully, I’m glad I rarely have to host anything nowadays. You two can do it until the end of time, as far as I’m concerned.” He winked at Caitlin as he followed Cisco out of the foyer.

Harry was about to shut the door when someone stuck their foot in, forcing it back open; HR stood there, carrying wine, and grinning widely at both of them.

Harry looked him up and down. “Who invited you?”

“I’ll never get tired of your acerbic wit, Harrison.” HR shoved the bottle of wine he was holding at Harry and then held his arms out. “Aren’t you two glad I decided to stay through this holiday? On Earth-57, the U.S. doesn’t have Thanksgiving. We have Autumnal Appreciation Day.”

“What does that entail?” Caitlin ignored the way Harry was shaking his head behind HR in an attempt at keeping her from asking questions. (She also pretended not to notice how he sighed overly loud when she ignored him.)

HR was much too happy to explain: “It’s a day in the fall when everyone gathers with their family and friends and cooks a meal and talks about the things they’re appreciative of in their life.”

“They…give…thanks?” Harry asked slowly.

“Yes,” HR nodded enthusiastically, “that’s exactly it.”

“How original,” Caitlin noted, making sure to avoid any eye contact with Harry because she somehow _knew_ the look on his face would make her start laughing.

“It’s strange how different Earths developed such different holidays and cultures,” HR agreed, as he went off down the hall, following the noise of people in the kitchen.

“I’m going to talk to Jess, then…?” Harry offered, and it was more a question asking if she definitely wanted to tell them that day, because he’d mentioned wanting to speak to his daughter first. She felt like too much of an intruder when it came to their dynamic to join him, not to mention that Jesse had been carefully keeping her distance the past month. Caitlin instinctively knew it was because she was worried about her father – about how easy it would be for Caitlin to hurt him, even unintentionally. She had to confront that issue at some point, but she didn’t want it to be today, and not over this. Telling everyone would be hard enough as it was.

“Go ahead,” she said, by way of an answer.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised, brushing a kiss along her temple before leaving the room.

She lingered in the foyer for a while, telling herself she was checking her hair and make-up in the oval mirror on the wall. And that she wanted to give Harry time to talk to Jesse. In actuality, though, she wanted to delay – to _stall_ – for as long as possible.

Because if she was going to do it today, it had to be _now_. She couldn’t go the entire day looking for the ‘right’ moment since there would never be one. She couldn’t keep feeling sick about what their reactions might be, envisioning their potential disappointment when they compared how she was now to how she _would_ have reacted otherwise. If she remembered. If she was…the _same_.

She silently counted to five and then walked down the hall with renewed determination. Just because she was afraid didn’t meant she had to _act_ that way.

Her footsteps slowed as she approached the kitchen, listening to them: Iris giggling when Barry teased her about changing outfits five times that morning (her rejoinder was that he had changed four); Joe and Wally arguing about whether their favorite team had a shot at the Superbowl this year; HR explaining, maybe to no one, that on Autumnal Appreciation Day, everyone ate vegetarian (for some reason).

She stepped into the room, searching for one person, and found him at the far end of the kitchen with Jesse. She met his eyes while studiously avoiding any look at the younger woman’s face, not sure if she’d like what she saw there. Harry nodded slightly and she took it to mean that he’d talked to his daughter. (She could only hope it’d gone well.)

“Caitlin!” Cisco said happily, drawing everyone’s attention to her as the room quieted. “We were about to send a search party; where have you been?”

She took a breath, about to greet them and make up some flimsy excuse. Instead, what came out in a botched attempt was, “I’ve been…pregnant.”

No one reacted. _No one_. It was like they weren’t sure how to do so – Caitlin had never heard a silence so loud.

“Wait,” Wally said, thoughtfully, “are you saying _that’s_ why you took so long to get here?”

Caitlin’s eyes shot to his, and for some reason, his attempt at a joke struck her as so unexpectedly funny that she had to press a hand to her mouth to try and stop the threatening laughter.

“It’s from…before,” she explained, once she was sure she could speak without laughing. Or crying. (Or both at the same time?) She couldn’t look at anyone directly as she spoke, fixating on the window along the wall. “It was a true shock for me to find out – which I only did a couple days ago. It’s pretty new to me, so please understand that I’m working on accepting it. Believing it, really. And I’m probably not going to react the way you’d expect me to if I remembered my life here. That’s not to say I’m unhappy about it, only that I need time.”

It felt eerily similar to two nights before, when she’d been terrified of Harry’s reaction, but he’d been…so much better (so much _more_ ) than she’d expected. He had a vested interest, though, didn’t he? He’d never made his love for her a secret. He’d been saying it since the timeline changed. It was more understandable he’d be accepting of her flaws, of the differences. More so than everyone else in the room with her.

She finally looked to Harry again; he was still lingering at the back of the room with Jesse and she wondered why he hadn’t come to join her, but she wasn’t going to ask. She couldn’t help risking a glance at Jesse, either – who was smiling at her in encouragement. She didn’t seem upset or unhappy – did that mean the others –

She finally swept her gaze back across the room, this time actually _looking_ at the people in it, and took a step back in surprise. They weren’t disappointed in her, or her speech, or her reaction. Their expressions were a mix of empathy and understanding. Excitement and acceptance. Happiness and – and love.

Her breath hitched and it felt like…like she was back in her own timeline.

They hadn’t been staying silent out of disappointment; they'd been doing so out of concern, of not knowing what _she_ wanted from _them_.

“Caitlin, can I ask you something serious?” Cisco ventured, waiting for her to nod. “Why do I get the sense that you’re always waiting for us to…” He was searching for the right words. “To turn on you?

She shrugged, a bit helpless, and had no real answer other than, “Because I’m not the person you used to know.” _And Harry_ _was_. She didn’t say it, but she wondered if they saw it on her face anyways.

“Oh, Caitlin,” Cisco whispered. “How could you think that of us? You’re the person we always knew. And both of you are our friends. Equally.” He sent a sideways look at Harry. “Mostly equally.”

“Even after…what happened?”

“Let me put it another way,” Iris said, taking over. “If Barry and I broke up –”

“Which is never going to happen,” Barry interrupted loudly, as the room pretty much collectively rolled their eyes.

Iris continued without a pause: “What I’m getting at, Caitlin, is which one of us would you stay friends with?”

Caitlin glanced between her and Barry. “I could never choose one of you over the other.”

“I most definitely could,” Harry said cheerfully. “West you’re in.” He gestured to the front of the house. “The door’s that way, Allen.”

Barry threw a grape at him (he’d been in the process of arranging a fruit bowl when Caitlin interrupted). “Thanks a lot, Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry replied, amusement lacing his voice.

“Harry, I’m trying to make a point here,” Iris scolded disapprovingly, as she turned back to Caitlin. “We’d never choose one of you over the other, either.” She slid her gaze back to Harry. “Though he does try his best to make us want to reconsider, at times.”

“It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t remember,” Jesse said, catching Caitlin’s attention. “That doesn’t change who you are. And I’m sorry I never told you that before.”

Caitlin shifted uncomfortably. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do. Because if my distance had any part in making you feel like you didn’t belong here, then that was awful of me. I was…” She glanced at her father and Caitlin wondered again how that conversation had gone. “I was scared. Because if you didn’t love my father the same as before, I thought that maybe…” She glanced down. “You also might not love the rest of us the same.”

Caitlin felt a chill run through her, wondering if the others had similar doubts. If they’d been unsure how she truly felt about them. She thought of their questions, in the beginning, about whether she wanted to stay. About what her relationships with them were like in her own timeline. They’d probably been trying to reassure themselves – and what had she done? She’d _resented_ that they would keep asking such things when she was trying to deal with such a difficult change.

She’d been so wrapped up in how things affected her and Harry that she’d forgotten there were seven other people who had needed – who had _deserved_ – her reassurance.

Her heart sank and she thought, again, about how much she was failing at everything lately. No matter how much she tried to do the right thing.

“I love all of you. You guys are my _family_ ,” Caitlin said, looking at each of them in turn. “You were always my family before.” She said the last to Harry. “That didn’t change here, and it never will. Not for me.”

“You’re our family, too,” Iris told Caitlin, sounding a little tearful, as everyone voiced their agreement. “We love you. There is _nothing_ that would ever make us turn on you.”

“Just like there is nothing that would ever make you turn on us,” Joe added.

“I completely agree, 100%,” HR said merrily. “I’d also like to add, for one of my books I did 3 months of research on relationship counseling, so I’m obviously more than qualified to help if either of you ever felt the need. In fact, I’d even be willing to take an extended vacation from my own life in order to move in with you and lend my expertise to help you work through this unusual situation.”

“You'd be willing to  _what now_?” Harry’s voice had dropped precipitously.

“I could definitely see myself living here,” HR was prattling on, seeming to care more about that than the actual ‘counseling’ part of his offer. “I _love_ this kitchen.” He tapped his fist against one of the cabinets. “Is this an ivory glaze?”

“Oh my God,” Caitlin breathed, looking between them – HR completely oblivious and Harry with growing horror on his face.

Jesse distracted her when she asked, tentatively, “Can we be excited about the baby? I don’t want to overstep or react in a way you don’t want me to, but you should know…I’m really excited.”

“Of course you can be excited,” Caitlin said. “You can _all_ be excited and happy. It doesn’t upset me. In fact it…” She pressed a hand to her throat, feeling the ache there. “It helps. A lot.”

It was like that allowed them to finally react, as she and Harry were showered with congratulations and far more hugs than she normally ever saw in a month, never mind a single day. She allowed it though, because she wasn’t sure who needed it more – her or them.

When the initial deluge had slowed and attention mostly returned to preparing dinner, Harry finally came over and slid his arm around her shoulders. In response, she couldn’t stop herself from turning to hug him, like it was an automatic reflex she had no control over; she never seemed to realize how much she could miss him until he wasn’t there.

“I knew you were worried,” he kept his voice low enough to not be overheard, “and I knew nothing I said was going to convince you otherwise. You had to see it for yourself.”

She suddenly knew, then, why he’d stayed across the room the entire time.

He hadn’t wanted her to think they were reacting a certain way for his benefit; he’d wanted her to know everything they said and did, every reassurance they’d given – that had all been for her.

And her alone.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to everyone for their feedback and encouragement! This is part 1 of their "first" date (and there will be a part 2).
> 
> Very special thanks to crazygirlne, who has illustrated a scene from this story! [The end of chapter 10.](http://captainwhogotthecanary.tumblr.com/post/160860568439/beginning-to-understand-x) I am so honored that she did so! <3

Nothing ever happened on their timetable.

Caitlin had accepted that long ago, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to constantly make plans while also being relatively sure those plans would get ruined, more often than not.

It seemed whenever _anything_ went wrong, either she or Harry was everyone’s first call. It was two weeks of ‘issues’ coming up with their team and S.T.A.R. Labs in general: Barry came down with some kind of virus that affected his speed; Jesse needed help studying for her metaphysics final; Cisco informed them that their last application for a government grant had been denied and wanted help redrafting it. Not to mention the handful of meta-humans who asked for their help. (And one in particular who skipped that step and simply wanted to kill them.)

Harry had told her they should go on their date the weekend after Thanksgiving. Naturally, that meant it was mid-December by the time they got around to it. For once, they’d managed to avoid all interruptions – even if Caitlin wasn’t entirely convinced someone wouldn’t call them at the last second and make them turn the car around from…wherever they were going.

Since Harry still wouldn’t tell her.

“You’re really taking this mystery thing a bit far,” she said. “I’m surprised you didn’t make me wear a blindfold.”

“Did you _want_ to wear a blindfold?”

“It might have spiced things up,” she said innocently, though her words had been carefully chosen to be not-so-innocent.

He glanced at her sideways. “I’ll remember that.”

“While I appreciate that it’s not even 4…” She’d been going to bed earlier every night, it seemed, exhaustion still the only symptom of pregnancy she had to deal with. “It’s early enough that it’s making me wonder what we could possibly be doing in the middle of the afternoon. And in such casual clothes, at that.”

She’d changed outfits three times, getting progressively more dressed down each time Harry told her to tone it down, and out of spite, she’d finally grabbed her most comfortable jeans and a black zip-up sweatshirt. She’d been sure he’d get the message and become more explicit in his instructions, but instead he’d merely said it was perfect for their afternoon (and she wasn't going to complain).

“You’ll see what we’re doing soon enough,” he told her enigmatically (which actually wasn’t much different from how he usually spoke). He made another turn, and she tried her best to imagine a map of Central City in an effort to determine where he could possibly be going.

“Just so you know, I’m kind of afraid you’re taking me on some sort of archaeological dig – which while fascinating, sounds a little taxing. Either that or a day of community service cleaning up parks. Because aside from that, I don’t know what these clothes could possibly be ‘perfect’ for.” (Harry himself was wearing black pants and a casual, dark gray shirt – when she’d told him he looked like a mortician, he’d quipped that at least in that line of work, he’d barely have to talk to anyone.)

“I would ask if you’re always this…persistent, but I know the answer.”

“This date isn’t…” She wasn’t sure how to phrase it. “It’s not some kind of strange…payback, is it?”

“Payback for what?” he asked, carefully.

“You know…” She absently pulled at the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Christmas.”

She was referring to the Christmas decorations she had more or less strong-armed everyone into helping her set up – on Thanksgiving, no less. Harry had been suitably appalled at ‘starting another holiday when they were barely done with the current one’ and when that reasoning had failed, he’d thrown out a bunch of objections. At one point, he’d even tried to argue that decorating so early was ‘unconstitutional’ but after being repeatedly overruled by everyone else, he gave in and insisted if they were doing it, he had to supervise to make sure things turned out ‘appropriately tasteful’.

She’d been fairly convinced, after the fact, that he liked it a lot more than he was willing to admit – but that was the thing, he _wasn’t_ willing to admit anything. Which meant she wasn’t entirely sure of his true opinion. So whenever she thought about him maybe putting up with things just for her…well, she felt bad about it. Because it was _his_ home, too. More his than hers, she felt like. Most days.

He reached over to squeeze her hand briefly. “Our date has nothing to do with you decorating absurdly early – or the disaster that HR almost turned our house into, for that matter.” The dryly affectionate way he spoke let her know that he wasn’t truly upset.

She let her shoulders relax, falling back into their easy banter. “Don’t blame HR. He was merely an innocent bystander.”

“First, HR has never been innocent of anything in his life _._  Second, he devised a game plan, Snow. He drew actual pictures of where he wanted decorations to go – remember how he made Barry rearrange things in the main living room three times?”

She did remember. (She also remembered how she hadn’t been able to stop laughing.) “In all fairness, Barry agreed that the first two spots for the Christmas tree simply didn’t work. Also, we definitely needed more tinsel to finish the room.”

“Tinsel,” Harry snapped. “ _Tinsel_. Perhaps one of the worst inventions your Earth has ever come up with. It’s everywhere, Snow.” His words had taken on a slightly haunted tone. “My clothes, my hair, my _dreams_.”

“Earth-2 doesn’t have tinsel?” She was genuinely struck at their deprivation. “How do you celebrate?”

“Like normal people –”

“Do you qualify as normal?” she interrupted, thoughtfully.

“ _Normal_ _people_ ,” he repeatedly loudly, like she hadn’t spoken, “who don’t need holiday decorations that disintegrate and invade every aspect of their lives.” Seeing her curiosity, he explained, “We have garland like you do, but we don’t have the completely deconstructed glittering _anathema_ that HR went and bought. On Thanksgiving. And then threw handfuls of around the living room.”

“In his defense, he was aiming for the tree. I think. Also, I wasn’t the only one of our team who wanted to decorate.”

“You came up with the idea, you found everything – that I should have burned, by the way – and then you threatened to kick out anyone who agreed with me that it was too early to decorate.”

“I’m failing to see your point, Harry.”

“They shouldn’t have gotten a vote anyways,” he continued. “It’s not like they live with us.” He thought about that. “Well…”

“Now the house has actual life to it!” She flung her arms out in demonstration and when he reached up to block her hand, she belatedly remembered they were driving. “Sorry.”

“That apology will really help us when we end up in a ditch.”

She turned in her seat to face him, too excited to rein herself in – something about the holidays had always made her feel better about life in general. “I know we must have gone through this last year because you told me we lived together by then.”

“We did, and you wore me down just as much as this year.”

“You don’t have to love the holidays, Harry. The holidays love _you_ , regardless of how you feel.”

“That doesn’t even make sense.”

“All the colors –”

“Red and green. _Everywhere_.”

“And gold,” she reminded him. “ _And_ there are plenty of multi-colored lights strung around. It’s so festive and happy and bright…”

“I noticed by the way I’m blinded every time I walk into the house.”

She leaned back a little, studying him. He was doing an admirable job, but for their entire ‘fight’, his tone had told her pretty much the opposite of his words. “When we finished, you said…what were your exact words, again? ‘It’s not intolerable’?”

“High praise from me, indeed.”

“I think it’s more than that,” she accused. “I think you _like_ it.”

“I – what – that’s too ridiculous to even refute.”

“You do,” she accused, smile growing by the second. “You like it!”

“I’m not participating in this conversation any longer,” he announced, as they slowed for a red light and Caitlin realized they’d entered a section of the city she wasn’t entirely familiar with.

“I know I’m right.”

“Do you always have to be right?”

“Do _you_?”

“…Yes.”

“You can admit that you’re warming up to Christmas, Harry.” She lowered her voice. “I won’t tell the others.”

He was watching her carefully as they waited for the light to change. “That’ll end the argument, though.” He lowered his voice to match hers. “And maybe I like arguing with you.”

She considered that, and how true it was for her, as well. He probably had a valid point. (In fact, she wondered if it wasn’t his entire life philosophy.) “I’m going to take that as confirmation I’m right, Harry.”

“No one will ever believe you,” he said, and she didn’t miss that it wasn’t another denial.

“I’ll know,” she said, settling back in her seat as the light turned green and he turned left down a street she couldn’t recall ever being on. “That’s enough for me.” They lapsed into silence for a minute before she added, “I’m sorry I thought you might have been using today as some kind of…way to get back at me.”

“Trust me, if I ever felt the need to ‘get back at you’ for something, you’d know it.” He was laughing at her – not outright, she could see it in his eyes when he looked over at her. “And I daresay you’d enjoy it.”

She turned to look out the passenger side window, biting her lip to stop her smile, though it didn’t work. (She also _really_ wanted to know what he had in mind as punishment, but she was sure that asking would only encourage him at the moment, so she filed it away to bring up later.)

When he realized she wasn’t going to reply, he asked, “Have I ever steered you wrong before?”

“I don’t know!” she complained, voice pitched too high. “If so, I have no memories of it.”

“Finally, something _good_ about your memory loss,” he smirked. “Can’t hold my past mistakes against me.”

“I thought you didn’t make mistakes?” she shot back and his smirk fell.

“Damn it,” he muttered. “Point to you, Snow.”

He made a lot of game analogies (and also a lot of bets – with her and everyone else), and it stirred a memory in her. “Harry, that first night, you mentioned something about your streak being intact? I keep forgetting to ask you about it. What was the bet?”

It took him a few moments to think back. “Ohh, that was one you actually bet me. That I couldn’t make you smile – against your will – every day. For two weeks straight.”

“Why would I make a bet like that? How would I ever possibly win?” If there was one thing she was sure of, even without her memories from before, it was that he had to have made her smile all the damn time. Because it was true even now.

He glanced over, seeing the confusion on her face. “You made plenty of bets you wouldn’t mind losing. Some you even wanted to lose. That was one you had little hope of winning. You made a valiant effort, though. I didn’t get you until almost midnight that day – and that was after you lost your memories.”

“It’s been six weeks now, going on seven?” She stretched her legs out, wondering how much longer they had to drive. “I think you can officially declare yourself the winner of that one.” She hesitated, then added, “You don’t have to ever stop doing it, either.”

“Making bets?”

She watched the trees moving by outside the window, noting that they were slowing down. “Making me smile. It might be one of your best qualities.”

“I’m sure it’s hard for you to choose,” he said glibly, as they pulled into a parking lot. (Finally.)

“Extremely difficult,” she agreed, looking around curiously, but there was nothing significant except a few houses nearby and a large, wood-shingled building to which the lot belonged. She actually had no idea what it was until she got out of the car and spotted the sign that had been hidden from her vantage point before.

“Central City Neighborhood Recreation,” she read. “Wow, Harry, you sure know how to impress a girl.”

“Only the best for you, Snow.”

She shivered in the cool December air as they made their way across the parking lot. It had been unseasonably cold, but she hadn’t grabbed a jacket, figuring her sweatshirt would be enough. The cold didn’t seem to affect him, though – nothing ever did, come to think of it.

“For a Saturday afternoon, there sure are a lot of cars here,” she noted, skidding into him when she hit a patch of ice. It had snowed the week before, and though most of it had melted by now, it was still cold enough that what was left refroze into black ice when the temperatures dipped again at the end of the day.

He stopped to steady her. “Don’t injure yourself before our date’s even started.”

She shook off his arm. “Sure, the ice is _my_ fault,” she huffed. “You know a gentleman wouldn’t make his _date_ cross a treacherous parking lot like this. He would have dropped me off at the door.”

“Do you want to go back to the car so I can drive you the fifty feet?” His question was sarcastic.

She answered it anyways. “Maybe I do.”

He pretended not to hear her. “And who said you married a gentleman?”

“Not me,” she scowled. “That’s for sure.”

He leaned down to brush a kiss near her ear, repeating, “ _That’s for sure_ ,” in a way that left her slightly breathless, and laughing.

“Only you would take that as a compliment,” she tried to scold him.

“To be fair,” he said, as they ascended the stairs to the door and he pulled it open for her, “I take nearly everything as a compliment.”

Caitlin stepped into a moderately sized lobby, sighing gratefully at the warmth that poured in from all sides. The room was sparsely furnished with benches against the walls, alongside a few display cases. It was, however, festively decorated in holiday-neutral decorations – blinking lights and garland, mostly white and green.

A middle-aged woman was sitting at a front desk across the room from them and she smiled brightly. “Welcome! How can I help you folks?”

As Harry went forward to greet her, Caitlin glanced around for some clue why they were there. Her eyes landed on a stand-alone, changeable sign near the desk with snap-on letters that read: **Adelson/Marbury Family Reunion, 3 pm, upper floor – Bingo, 4 pm, ground floor.**

“You didn’t,” she breathed, as Harry looked over at her.

“I didn’t what?”

“The Adelson/Marbury reunion!” She draped her arm over the top of the sign. “I've always had a thing for crashing other people’s events. How did you know?”

“It’s either that or we check out the bingo game,” he said, without missing a beat, but he was smiling as he wrote something at the desk. “I’m up for either. Your call.”

While she pretended to think about it, he pressed a name tag sticker near her left shoulder. She glanced down to see the name ‘Caitie’ and glared at him. “Harrison Wells.”

“Caitie,” he returned, easily.

“Harrison Wells!” the woman at the desk proclaimed, having overheard Caitlin. “I _knew_ you looked familiar. Thank you for your generous donation last month.”

“You’re welcome,” he said graciously, shaking her hand when she offered it. He tried to pay for their games, but she waved him off and told them it was on the house. She was nearly _beaming_ at him and Caitlin was struck by it. He’d claimed people loved him and S.T.A.R. Labs, and she’d definitely seen evidence of the latter, but him being treated by a near-stranger as if he were a semi-celebrity? It was a bizarre thing to witness. And yet…there it was, right in front of her.

“We want to make sure we find a seat,” Harry was saying, as he gave the woman a final nod. He pointed Caitlin down a hallway to their right while affixing his own name tag (on which he'd written ‘HARRISON WELLS’ in block letters).

She tapped his sticker with no shortage of amusement. “God forbid anyone mistake you for some other Harrison.”

“Is there any other Harrison worth mentioning?”

“How about the guy from Star Wars? And Indiana Jones?”

It took him a few seconds to make the connection. “Are you talking about Harrington Ford?”

She tried to figure out if he was serious or not (and damn it, she couldn’t tell). “His name is _Harrison_.”

“Not on my Earth, it’s not,” he said smugly. “You know, the Earth that counts.”

Their pointless argument was cut short when the hallway opened into a recreation room that was significantly larger than Caitlin would have thought from the outside of the building. It was already set up for the game that was about to take place. Four long tables ran nearly the length of the room from end to end – they reminded Caitlin of the tables from her high school cafeteria, though maybe half of these were benches and the other half had chairs. There were also at least a dozen round tables set up along the edges of the room.

It was decorated much as the lobby had been, with strands of garland and holly criss-crossing the room in every which way. Twinkling white lights ran around the entire room.

Every table seemed pretty full, with very few empty spots left. There had to be around 150 people there. (Who knew bingo was such a popular Central City pastime?)

“Bingo,” she said, mostly to herself, glancing from the tables to Harry and back again. “I don’t know what to make of you sometimes, Harry.”

“It’s okay, right?” he asked, and for the first time that day, she heard a hint of uncertainty in his tone.

“It’s more than okay,” she whispered, in promise. Because truthfully, it was different than anything she’d expected, and certainly a unique date idea, and it’d probably be a lot of fun (because _everything_ with him was a lot of fun). She was coming to associate all those things with him more every day. Or maybe just…happiness.

He tapped her arm with his, regaining her attention. “I’m glad you like it. I was hoping you would.”

She continued to take in their surroundings. “This must be a pretty novel experience for you.” She purposely took a couple steps back so she was technically in the hallway again. “Tell me, when was the last time you were the youngest person in a room?”

He put his hands on his hips and faced her down. “Snow,” he bit out, and tellingly had nothing else to add.

“Never?” she goaded, as he pulled her back into the room.

“There are plenty of young people here,” he objected to her blanket statement. “Look.” He tilted his head to their right, indicating a pair of teenagers at one of the tables.

“They’re here with their grandparents,” Caitlin whispered, as they watched the two teens smile at the elderly couple with them while helping to lay out their cards.

“It counts,” he griped and Caitlin felt a nearly overwhelming rush of affection for him.

He motioned toward an opening at the center of one of the middle tables and she followed him there. They ended up sitting across from each other with enough space on either side of them to provide a natural buffer between themselves and the other people on the bench. Stacks of bingo cards were piled high in baskets in the middle of the tables.

“I’m guessing she let us in for free because of the donation she mentioned?” Caitlin asked, as she pulled out three cards, which was the amount everyone around them was using.

“We gave them $25,000 last month,” he said, pulling out some cards for himself.

She gaped at him. “We did?”

“The games and events held here are mostly to raise money for youth recreation activities, which we both overwhelmingly support.”

Caitlin felt a surge of pride that she’d been able to donate that much to a worthy cause. In her own time, she’d done what she could, but she’d certainly never had that kind of money to throw around.

“Now I understand why she was delighted to learn who you were,” Caitlin teased. “You basically paid for that reaction.”

He sent her a look of mock outrage. “I’ll have you know that I’m a –”

“Beloved public figure,” Caitlin filled in. “Right.”

“It’s almost like you don’t believe me,” he said archly, as he searched through another basket which held a variety of bingo daubers in every color of the rainbow. “We’re going to go shopping together soon so you can see it in person.”

“Alright,” she said agreeably. “That can be our second date. Grocery shopping.” She said it jokingly, but she actually wondered if he wasn’t entirely kidding, and if anyone would recognize him. More than that, she had the feeling she’d enjoy shopping with him as much as she did everything else where he was involved. “I’ll cancel next week’s food delivery.”

“I take you to bingo, you take me grocery shopping?” He raised an eyebrow. “We sure know how to live it up. Maybe we should start looking into retirement communities, Snow.”

“I can’t picture us ever retired,” she said, even as she thought she might like the idea. With him. “Besides, I don’t think they’d want kids living there.”

The more days that passed, the better she felt about having a child. She or Harry might occasionally mention it, but for the most part they hadn’t spoken much about it. He seemed to sense she still needed to become more used to the idea, but she couldn’t deny that she was starting to get momentary flashes of…not quite excitement so much as hopeful anticipation.

Unbidden, she saw the image of the son they’d had in her dream a few weeks earlier. She hadn’t dreamed of him since, but some part of her believed (maybe hoped) that was their child and they simply hadn’t met him yet. Because as crazy as it might sound, she actually missed him at times.

The thought suddenly crossed her mind, as certain as it was vehement: if she had to choose anyone in the world to have a child with, it would be the man sitting across from her.

“That’s what adoption’s for, right?” Harry was joking, while her thoughts had drifted. “I bet one of our friends would step up. And hey, I’m ‘retired’ on Earth-2, as far as my staff there is concerned.” He was assessing her in his particular way that meant he was going to say the exact opposite of his true sentiment. “If I’d known this team was what said retirement would entail… I might have reconsidered.”

“No you wouldn’t have.” 

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“And you’re not giving our kid to anyone else,” she said, as an afterthought to his adoption joke. 

He met her eyes. “Not a chance of that, either.” His voice had turned so unexpectedly (deadly) serious that she felt an actual chill. It was rare that she saw the darker side of him, the side that had receded somewhat over time when he was on her team (both in her own timeline and this one, as well).

She wondered what it said about her that rather than ever being scared of that side, she often _liked_ seeing it.

“Aren’t these the coolest damn things you’ve ever seen?” Harry was saying, and just like that, the mood had shifted back to playful again. She had no idea what he was even talking about until he picked up the basket of bingo daubers and shook it at her. “In every color, too! They’re ingenious.”

She had to smile at the irony of Harrison Wells calling bingo daubers ‘ingenious’ when he’d invented things she couldn’t even pronounce, never mind explain how they worked.

She watched him pull out a sky blue dauber and uncap it, studying it like it was some strange specimen. He pressed a finger gently to the top of it and then stared at the blue ink on his finger.

“It’s spongy,” he told her, pressing the top of it again. “I’ve never felt anything like it.”

“You’ve never felt a sponge?”

He sent her a look – not any look, the patented look he had that told her he was distinctly amused but hiding it at all costs. “We don’t have these on Earth-2.”

“Sponges?” she persisted, pressing her lips together to stop the smile that wanted to break through.

_Why did she get the distinct feeling he was considering throwing the marker cap at her?_

“No, _these_ ,” he said, holding up the dauber, and his sheer enjoyment hadn’t dissipated despite her questions. When he threw the cap at her head, she instinctively reached up to catch it and then took a moment to be inordinately proud of herself for predicting his reaction.

“I thought your Earth was superior in every way?” she pointed out, barely able to contain her laughter as she set the cap on the table between them. He was pressing the center of the bingo dauber to the palm of his hand and then examined the nearly perfect circle of blue ink it left.

“My Earth _is_ superior in every way,” he insisted, arrogantly. “With two exceptions. One, we don’t have bingo daubers – we have to use those stupid plastic chips to mark numbers and one wrong brush of a sleeve or someone bumping into the table and you have no idea what you marked!”

She grabbed a purple dauber from the basket. “Alright, then,” she said, her curiosity growing by the moment. “What’s the second exception?”

“You,” he said, matter of factly. “My Earth didn’t have you.”

“It didn’t have any of our friends, either,” she deflected, wondering if he saw the way she was never sure how to respond when he said things like that.

“Right,” he said, flatly. “I _just_ told you it was superior.”

“And your Earth had a version of me,” she added quietly, before she could question the wisdom of mentioning it. “Once upon a time.”

His gaze darkened, almost angrily. “She was _not_ you. Never even close.”

“She might have been,” Caitlin argued. “With different choices.”

“Choices she didn’t make.”

“Do you ever wonder…” She made a show of studying her cards, like they were fascinating. “If she had been different, if she _had_ made those other choices, and you two had met…” She didn’t really want to finish where her question was going.

When he said nothing after a few charged moments, she finally looked up, which was what he’d been waiting for. “Not. Possible.”

“Her making other choices?”

“Me ending up with her. Which is what you’re driving at, right?”

“No,” she said, feeling inexplicably sullen. “Never mind.”

“Different people,” he reminded her. “She is, _was_ , as different from you –”

“Harry –”

“– as I am from HR,” he calmly finished, like she hadn’t interrupted. “Which you, yourself, have told me.” He pinned her with a knowing look. “We could always go looking through the multi-verse again, see if there are any versions of Harrison Wells that you think might be close enough to me –”

“No,” she said quickly, remembering how much she’d hated it when he left, remembering the hurt she’d suppressed, even if she understood his reasons. (She also remembered how much she’d despised his casual belief that he could be so easily replaced.) And if she’d felt all that then, the thought of it now – _now_ –

“You said you couldn’t do this with anyone else.” His voice tore her out of her thoughts. “Or has your opinion on that changed?” He asked it nonchalant, like he was unconcerned with the answer, but she recognized how important the question was to him. (And to her, too.)

“It hasn’t changed. It’s never going to change.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, with an air of finality, before turning to look behind him – his back was to the bingo caller who was setting up on a slightly elevated stage, and Caitlin’s back was to the door. “When is this going to start? They’re sure taking their time.”

“Right, we don’t want to be late to the buffet I’m sure you’re taking me to after this. What time does the early bird special end?”

“$7.99 for all you can eat is a _deal_ , Snow. Don’t be elitist.”

She started laughing. “I hope you understand the irony of _you_ telling someone not to be elitist, Mr. ‘I had this tile in my kitchen imported from Rome’.”

“It wasn’t Rome,” he said coolly. “It was Tuscany. At least it was on my Earth, and it’s the same tile here as there. So. Yeah.” He frowned at his argument uncharacteristically tapering out.

“Were there any differences in the houses?” she asked, wondering what his home had been like on Earth-2.

“A few minor ones. Nothing major. I never was into decorating that much –”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

He leveled yet another look at her (and she was tempted to tell him he was going to run out of them someday, considering how many he used). “It’s about the same as ours. I couldn’t bring myself to sell it to anyone else, though. I have a lot of good memories with Jesse there.”

“So it’s just sitting empty?” That didn’t seem right to her. “You’ve never thought about –”

“I’m never moving back,” he said, before she could finish the question. “Barring…you know, an apocalypse. And in that case, you’d all come with me. In case you wondered.”

“I didn’t wonder,” she said quietly, smiling at him.

“A management company takes care of it. I know I should let it go…” He shrugged. “I haven’t been back to that house in a while. It’s…different there now.”

“How so?”

“It’s…colder,” he said, not looking at her. “It’s the same exact house, but it _feels_ different without you there.”

“Maybe it should belong to someone else,” she suggested, gently. “Unless you’re serious about keeping it for apocalypse insurance.”

“Apocalypse insurance,” he repeated to himself, clearly liking the sound of that. “Given our life? Maybe it’s wise.” He twisted around again to see if the game was going to start anytime soon – a group of women had gathered near the stage, apparently to greet their friend who was the bingo caller. “What is taking so long? I think she’s socializing!”

“How dare she,” Caitlin said, with mock anger. “You’re a little eager, huh?”

“Yes, eager to win. Maybe I should go up there and get things started, throw my name around.”

“It’s only a little after 4,” she chided. “And could you sound any more full of yourself?”

“Is that a bet you really want to make?”

She was tempted to challenge him, but he probably _would_ try to be even more insufferable and it was all she could do to contain him as it was. So instead, she sifted through the basket between them to find a gray dauber and tossed it to him. “There you go. I think that fits you much better than sky blue.”

He sighed, overly loud, and put both of them back in favor of pulling out a red one. “This is it. This is the one that’s going to win me…what are the prizes again? No, it doesn’t matter as long as I beat you.”

“You’re not going to let me win because we’re on a date?”

“How exactly do you propose that I’d let you win at _bingo_ , Snow?”

“I’m sure you could find a way. If you really cared.”

“If there was, I still wouldn’t let you win,” he vowed, flipping over one of the cards and pressing red circles all over the back of it. When Caitlin merely stared, he explained, “I have to make sure it works. I can’t be caught unaware once the game’s on the line.”

“There’s no way I’m letting you win more games than me,” she declared, even though she had no way of ensuring such a thing.

“It’s a game of chance.”

“I have my methods,” she threatened. (Let him think on that.) “Just you wait.”

Loud laughter from somewhere behind her had Caitlin turning to look, and at that moment, she felt something cold on the back of her hand. She spun back around to see a perfect red circle on her skin, ink still wet.

“Did you just…daub me?”

Harry looked at her hand, then his red bingo dauber, then back up at her face. “No.”

“You totally daubed me!” She shook her hand, hoping the ink would dry quickly because if she tried to wipe it off, it would smudge everywhere. And even though he had blue ink all over his fingers now, that didn’t mean _she_ wanted to be covered with ink, too.

“I’m innocent!” he declared, too loud, if the few looks sent their way were any indication.

“You are not,” she hissed. “You didn’t even drop the evidence.”

“This,” he waved the red dauber at her and then had to quickly pull back when she made a lunge for it, “is proof of nothing. Any one of these people could have done it.”

“Yes, I’m sure they’re all equally likely suspects. The vast assortment of canes, wheelchairs, and walkers would make any getaway extremely fast and easy.”

“Maybe it was that guy,” he offered, nodding to the man on her left. “He looks suspicious enough.”

She pitched her voice lower. “Harry, he’s like 95. And his dauber is orange.”

“The ink on your hand could be orange,” Harry claimed. “And reacting with your skin made it _look_ red.”

“Sometimes I think you just string words together and say them without even listening to yourself.”

“It’s definitely possible,” he conceded, with a laugh.

She pressed her thumb to the now dry circle on her hand, getting an idea. She licked one of her fingers and then rubbed around the edges of the circle, making a dip at the top and tapering the bottom of it to a point.

“Now it’s a heart,” she said, holding her hand up so he could appreciate it.

“And you thought it was sappy when you found out you put a heart after my name in your phone.”

“Doesn’t mean I didn’t like it,” she said, admiring her hand with a grin. When she looked at him again, the expression she found on his face nearly took her breath away.

Something behind her drew his attention – or so he pretended. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. “Look who it is.”

“I’m not falling for that so you can daub me again,” she said, crossing her arms defiantly.

“Oh, how I wish that’s what this was. Look.”

“No!”

“Excuse me, miss,” came a familiar voice from behind her. “Is this man bothering you?”

Caitlin turned around, grin widening when she confirmed it was Barry who’d asked the question – and Iris was right beside him. “As a matter of fact…” she started, turning back to face Harry, who was merely staring over her head at the newcomers with his patented mixture of exasperation and resignation.

“What a coincidence that we’d find you two here,” Barry said, disingenuously. “At the weekly bingo game Iris and I attend every Saturday at 4 pm.”

“You’ve never played bingo before in your life, Allen,” Harry asserted, daring him to argue.

“You can’t prove that,” Barry said smoothly. His arm was around Iris’ waist and she was looking between Caitlin and Harry with barely concealed curiosity. “Now that we’re in our declining years, Iris and I love it here.”

“What’d you do?” Harry demanded. “Track our phones?”

“I resent that incredibly true accusation,” Barry said, lacing his voice with as much indignation as he could manage (which was to say, not much at all). He was studying them, critically – or rather, Harry’s dark clothes and Caitlin’s matching black sweatshirt. “What’s up after this, you two? Gonna rob a couple houses on your way home? It sure is exciting for a date, I’ll give you that much.”

Harry glowered at him. “There is nothing wrong with my outfit.”

Barry’s face twisted into a frown. “Oh, I’m sorry, Harry. Truly.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “Someone died, right? Their funeral’s today?”

Caitlin started laughing at the similarity to the joke she’d made before they’d even left the house. Harry scowled at the three of them in turn. “Should I start wearing yellow? Would that make you people happy?”

“HR’s your size,” Iris said carefully, as if it was a thought that had just occurred to her. “I bet he’d let you borrow some of the stuff he left in his room at S.T.A.R. Labs. You know he was recently in that Hawaiian shirt phase…”

Harry actually jerked back at her suggestion. “How much do you hate me, Iris West?”

“Not at all, Harry,” she said soothingly, reaching across the table to pat his arm.

“Cisco and HR aren’t here?” Barry was searching the room. “Let me give them a call and –”

“Why do people keep threatening me with that?” Harry interrupted, with a sharp look toward Caitlin, causing her to shrug as if she had no idea what he was talking about. “And why is HR even here? He left two weeks ago and he’s visiting again, already? At this rate, he might as well move back.”

“I’ll tell him you said so,” Barry offered, already typing.

Harry wasn’t amused. “I will snap your phone in half.”

Iris quickly took Barry’s phone away from him, mid-text. “Not a chance, hon,” she told him, dodging when he tried to grab it back. “We’re imposing more than enough. Let’s not give HR and Cisco more ideas on how to harass our friends.”

“Trust me,” Harry said, under his breath, “they don’t need any ideas.”

Iris might have heard that, or she might have simply been feeling guilty – either way, she cast an apologetic glance at them. “We’ll leave if you two want.”

“No, of course not! Join us,” Caitlin said warmly, knowing even as she spoke that it would earn her a glare from Harry, and barely suppressed her smile when her prediction came true. Some part of her thoroughly enjoyed riling him up – at being the complete center of his attention, even if it meant they were disagreeing over something. The feelings were new; she’d enjoyed friendly arguments with him in her own timeline, but she’d never felt _quite_ as much of a thrill from it as she did now.

(She wondered, if things hadn’t changed, if it would have only been a matter of time…if the progression in her own timeline had been slower, but still an inevitable path leading them both toward the same destination – her and Harry together. Somehow. Some way.)

“This place is pretty busy, huh?” Iris was pulling off her coat and draped it over the bench. “We had to park in the back lot.”

There wasn’t enough room on the bench for Iris and Barry to join them unless both she and Harry slid down a little, sacrificing some of their buffer space to allow their friends to sit; therefore, Caitlin obligingly slid to the side.

“What are you doing?” Harry demanded. “Are you moving over? Don’t move over. That is encouraging them to stay.” He pointed at Barry and Iris. “She was joking about joining us.”

“No, I wasn’t,” Caitlin said, meeting his gaze, both in challenge and to assess his reaction – if he were _truly_ annoyed at their friends’ arrival, she would have politely reversed course and suggested joining them later for dinner, or perhaps another night. But her instincts about his motivations were spot on – he was being obstinate simply _to be obstinate_. He had no real objections to their presence. She often suspected he kept up the pretense most of the time because he enjoyed it so much.

“Oh, we’re staying,” Barry promised, oblivious to her and Harry’s silent conversation. “And actually, Caitlin…do you mind switching sides? I like to always sit next to my girl.” He punctuated his last statement by briefly kissing Iris.

“It’s no problem,” Caitlin told him, getting to her feet. The game had just begun, so she tried to make a mental note of the numbers being called.

“What are you doing?” Harry repeated his demand from a moment earlier. “Are you switching sides? Snow!”

She ignored him, sighing when she saw how far down she’d have to walk to round the long benches – why did they have to run nearly the length of the room? When it came to moving, though, she didn’t mind…not even despite knowing that Barry had staged that little scene for dramatic benefit. He couldn’t care less where he and Iris sat – he just thought he was hilarious (and some sort of matchmaker) by having her and Harry sit next to each other.

She was so preoccupied repeating the numbers to herself, in an effort not to forget them, that she almost kept walking right by Harry when she came up behind him. She was completely unsurprised to find he hadn’t moved and there wasn’t enough room for her to sit down – not without literally bumping into one of the older people on either side of him. There was no way she was going to risk it; most of the people here looked frail enough that a gentle breeze might knock them over.

She tapped his shoulder. “Harry.”

He turned on the bench to look up at her. “I’m sorry. Did you want to sit here? There’s not really enough room. Maybe you should have thought of that before following Allen’s demands.” He cast a mildly scathing glance toward Barry and Iris, who didn’t notice on account of how they were whispering to each other.

“Don’t make me find another table,” she threatened. “I’m sure if I looked hard enough I could find at least one man in this crowd I'd want to spend the rest of my day with.” She made sure to inject as much insinuation into her next suggestion as possible: “Maybe he’d even want to _date_ me.”

“I’ll take your bet and raise the stakes – find someone under 65 who fits that criteria.” He clearly thought she had zero chance of succeeding. “Good luck.”

“Weren’t you the one insisting earlier that there were some younger people here…somewhere? Maybe I choose to believe you now. And besides, who said I cared about age? Though if you want to make it an official bet, I’m sure I could find someone young…” She scanned the room. “Younger…” Scanned some more. “Young…ish?”

He brandished his bingo dauber at her in some kind of wordless threat. “Give up!”

“Young at heart,” she tried, desperately. “Does young at heart count?”

His expression told her that no, it definitely didn’t count.

“I’ll find someone,” she insisted, as she searched the crowd of people. Unfortunately, it seemed that everyone who wasn’t middle-aged or older was under 20, instead – most of them kids, in fact. (There were more than she’d noticed upon first arriving; apparently, children enjoyed bingo as much as older people did.) And of the two men she’d spotted that could have been her age, both seemed to be on their own dates. “Just…give me a minute.”

“I’ll give you more than that. I’ll give you however long you want; you won’t find anyone.”

She knew from his confidence that he’d probably completed his own assessment of the crowd shortly after they’d arrived, so this was most likely a losing bet for her, but then again… She studied him, getting an idea. She couldn’t let him win, which meant it was time for her last resort – outright bluffing. It was always risky with Harry because he was far more likely to call her on it than not, but she had to try.

“Aha!” she said, fixing her gaze on one of the furthest points in the room from them, a crowded round table near a far window where there _could_ have been someone single under 65. Maybe. “Found my opening.” She pressed one hand to Harry’s shoulder and the other on the table to lean down and make sure her friends heard her over the din of the crowd – at some point, Barry and Iris had started watching them with interest they couldn’t hide. “You three enjoy the rest of your afternoon together.”

With that, she straightened and turned on her heel with an air of feigned confidence. She made it exactly one step away before Harry grabbed her hand and abruptly pulled her back, so she had no choice but to sit backwards on the bench next to him – and a woman shuffling by almost ran over her feet with her walker, but Caitlin managed to pull her legs aside at the last second.

“Can I help you?” she asked Harry pleasantly, leaning back into the table as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Because I found someone who fits all the criteria, so if you want to admit right now that you lost…”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You didn’t find anyone.”

She sent him her most condescending look. “I most certainly did. Someone I want to spend the rest of my day with.” She purposely looked back toward the table by the window. “Maybe much longer than that.”

He considered her words before asking, “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is,” she said, eyes crinkling from the smile she was trying to hold back at the knowledge she’d won. “I’m sitting with him right now.”

For a few moments, it seemed as if he were about to speak, but then he gave up.

She couldn’t help taunting him. “I think the words you’re looking for are ‘you win, Caitlin Snow’.”

He searched her eyes before slowly smiling, and she had to give in, matching him with a smile of her own.

“No,” he finally said (and it somehow sounded like a promise). “Those aren’t the words.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To answer a couple questions I've gotten recently: This story has 10 more chapters, at least, if not more. Yes, they will "officially" get together again somewhere in there, but it might be a little ways away, still. Also, the timeline issue will be addressed and there is an explanation for what happened, but the focus of this story has always been (and will always be) on their relationship.
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone for their support and encouragement!

The first thing Caitlin noticed upon getting herself resituated was the way Barry couldn’t seem to look away from her and Harry.

“What?” Caitlin asked, as Iris slid over the cards she’d left across the table. She started stamping them, trying to focus on that along with the conversation at hand.

“Nothing,” Barry said. “It’s nice to see you two getting along, the way you…” _used to_. Everyone heard the unspoken end of the sentence, and Barry’s smile fell as he dropped his gaze.

“It’s okay, Barry,” Caitlin said gently, reaching across to touch his hand. “We –” she gestured from Harry to herself, “– don’t pretend like nothing has changed. So you don’t have to, either.”

Barry was searching through the basket of colorful bingo daubers with an intensity the task didn’t warrant. “I thought you disliked it when we talked about before.”

“I’m not a huge fan of hearing about things I don’t remember and I especially don’t want to be compared, but…” She glanced at Harry who was studying his cards and not looking at her. “I don’t mind when it comes to our relationship.” In fact, on that topic, the more she heard, the better.

“She can’t get enough of me,” Harry offered, in a stage whisper.

Caitlin nodded. “Yup, that’s what I said. Exactly.”

“Whose idea was this anyways?” Iris asked curiously, glancing between them.

“Harry,” Caitlin answered, at the same time he said, “Snow.” And then the two of them looked at each other.

“I didn’t bring us here,” Caitlin said, tilting her head in confusion.

“You most certainly did. In a way. It was based on _your_ joke. The day after…” His words faded and he looked briefly at the other couple before refocusing on her.

She wondered what he wouldn’t want to say in front of their friends and then... _her nightmare_. That was right; the next morning, she’d made a joke that if he wanted to start dating again, he should find a weekly bingo game.

Of course he hadn’t done this randomly, she should have known – Harrison Wells didn’t do _anything_ by accident. “You set this up based on my offhanded joke? I didn’t even remember making it until now.”

“That’s okay,” he replied, words quiet in reassurance. “I’ll remember for the both of us.”

She inhaled slowly, recognizing the much deeper meaning behind his words. “Harry…”

He must have seen how completely lost she was, since his solemn expression changed, brightening as he grinned and said, “You’re losing.” He turned to make sure he was addressing Barry and Iris, too. “I’m no bingo expert – so correct me if I’m wrong – but I _think_ you have to match the numbers they call.” He tapped Caitlin’s card that was closest to him. “You missed about ten numbers so far. You know, in your stroll around the room?”

“You could have helped me!” she complained, in discontent.

“Hmm, yes. I _could_ have.” He shrugged, somehow making even _that_ move arrogant. “But how would you ever learn?”

She knew, in that moment, that she was going to have to get back at him.

Someone across the room yelled ‘bingo’ and Caitlin shoved her cards aside with a flick of her wrist; for all his irritating smugness, Harry was right, she’d missed far too many numbers. She’d have to pay more attention next time – there was a break of 5 minutes between rounds, and from the social and jovial atmosphere, she guessed that was as much so people could talk as it was to give them time to arrange new cards.

She dug around in the basket for another red dauber and bided her time through a few rounds until he was finally distracted by some story Barry was telling, taking the opportunity to randomly stamp a bunch of numbers on his cards.

“What are –” It only took Harry a few seconds to realize what she’d done and he surveyed his cards that now had twice as much red as before. “Sabotage!”

“What’s that, now?”

He tried to take the dauber from her, but she was as quick as he’d been – she tossed it to Barry, who merely rolled his eyes at them and set it back in the basket.

“One of these could have been the next winning card,” Harry lamented.

“Yes. They _could_ have been. Guess you’ll never know, now. Not unless you think you can restamp them in another color before the round is over…”

He glanced behind them to see how many numbers had been called, calculating, and quickly came to the same conclusion Caitlin had. “There’s not enough time.” He set aside his cards in the discard pile, effectively forfeiting the round.

“Yet another round you’ve _lost_ ,” Caitlin said, gleefully.

“Don’t think I’ll forget this,” he warned, in a tone that left her more thrilled than anything else. She half-expected him to steal her cards in retaliation, but he simply did…nothing. (Which actually set her on edge more than if he’d tried to do anything – and which he also had to have known.)

“You two could always just…play the game,” Barry suggested, like it was something they might have never considered.

“Nooo,” Iris said slowly. “I really don’t think they could.”

“Yeah, where’s the fun in that?” Harry quipped, as Caitlin sent him a smile indicating her clear agreement.

The four of them passed most of the game with the same easy camaraderie – talking cheerfully about work and meta-humans and life in general. They all had trouble winning; whenever any of them got close, someone in the room inevitably called bingo. They got even more confused when the game switched to patterns instead of lines to make the rounds last longer – more than once they forgot what pattern they were supposed to be matching.

Harry had somehow managed to make friends with both older couples on either side of them at the table, which amused Caitlin to no end. She shouldn’t be surprised when he charmed people (he had built S.T.A.R. Labs on his own Earth, after all, and that took no small amount of charisma), but she somehow always was. She supposed she tended to think of him as more solitary, seeming to actively dislike any contact with others, the way he’d been when she’d first met him. He could still be that way, at times, but rarely with her or their friends. She also hadn’t had many opportunities to watch him interact with anyone outside of their team in her own timeline, so it was easy to forget how persuasive he could be with strangers when the circumstances warranted.

“This game is impossible,” Harry complained, during another break. He’d started tossing his red bingo dauber up in the air and catching it; she could tell it was out of frustration.

“Maybe the universe is against you,” Barry suggested, carefully setting out his new cards before propping his head on his hand to study them. “Maybe it’s against all of us, considering how awful our luck is today.”

Harry tipped his head back to watch the arc of the dauber as he threw it in the air. “It’s all the more difficult with Snow constantly distracting me. I think she does it on purpose so I’ll lose.”

“As if you need any help losing,” Caitlin scoffed in response, and nudged him a bit harder than she meant to (which she’d been doing all day – it was the source of many of his ‘complaints’, in fact). Unfortunately, this time she did it right as he let go of the marker, causing it to fly off track and barely miss the head of the old woman sitting a couple feet to his right. After (thankfully) missing her, it bounced to a stop on the table in front of her and rolled a few inches. Her eyes widened almost comically behind her wire-rimmed glasses as she looked from the dauber to Harry in accusation.

“Uh…my apologies, Georgina.” Harry discreetly motioned to Caitlin and the woman leaned around Harry to frown at her.

Caitlin couldn’t believe his gall (yeah right, of course she could). “It wasn’t me!”

“It _definitely_ was,” Harry countered, then met the older woman’s gaze earnestly, “and for once I’m not just saying that.” He moved closer, adding, “Don’t judge her too harshly. I think she’s been drinking.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” Caitlin protested, trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice (impossible, as usual). “Though sometimes when I’m with you, it does seem appealing.”

Georgina picked up the dauber, slamming it down on the table in front of Harry with more force than any of them would have expected someone her age to possess. “I’m very sorry for you, my dear,” she told Caitlin, though there was a lightness in her eyes, “that you have to put up with him.”

“Georgina,” Harry said sternly, “that’s uncalled for. That is _not_ kind.”

“Thank you,” Caitlin said sweetly, casting a self-satisfied look at Harry. “I appreciate your sympathy.”

The next round officially started, causing Georgina to return to her cards. Harry kept looking between Caitlin and the other woman, as if he _could not believe_ that anyone would take Caitlin’s side over his.

“I’ve noticed how unfairly she treats you, Harry,” Barry told him, shaking his head at Caitlin in disappointment. “She blatantly hit you and that was the reason you almost took out Georgina with the dauber. I really don’t know how you put up with her.” He leaned in over the table. “If you want, we can always ditch the girls. Find another table.”

“Yes, Allen, that’s what I desperately wanted today.” Harry had taken to rolling the dauber between his hands, maybe deciding it was the safer option. “To go on a date with _you_.”

Barry’s smile turned sappy. “That’s so sweet.” He lowered his voice, sending a quick look to Caitlin and Iris. “But maybe we shouldn’t talk about it in front of your wife and my girlfriend.”

Caitlin momentarily froze in the middle of marking ‘16’ on her cards. For some reason, the terms ‘husband’ and ‘wife’ always caught her interest more than when someone referred to the general fact that she and Harry were married. She wasn’t sure why, except that maybe it was still such an odd thing to hear people say as if it weren’t a matter of consequence. (Because the terms mattered to her. A lot.)

“I’m beginning to think you two really _do_ want to be alone,” Iris remarked, stamping two of her cards when the caller announced ‘35’. “Don’t let me or Caitlin stop you, by any means.”

“We won’t get in the way of the love you two share,” Caitlin agreed somberly. “We understand the vagaries of the human heart.”

“Even if it meant you’d have to give me up?” Harry challenged her.

She affected the most emotional tone she could manage. “I only want you to be happy. Alas, if that means I have to suffer…”

He beckoned her closer and when she leaned in, he whispered, “I _am_ happy. With you.”

The teasing left her in an instant. He had the remarkable ability to unexpectedly turn a serious mood light – or, like now, a light one serious. She searched his eyes, letting what she saw there wash over her – it used to unnerve her, but now, it only calmed her. Or more than that…it reassured her.

(Even if there was still that lingering self-doubt she tried to ignore, that loved to pick the worst of times to remind her that Harrison Wells had fallen in love with _someone else_. Not her. And maybe sometimes, when he looked at her…he saw who she’d been before.)

An elderly woman yelled ‘bingo’ from behind them and Caitlin turned to watch her move to the front of the room to get her win verified and claim her prize. There were a multitude of $10 gift cards to choose from and anyone who won bingo that day got to enter a drawing for the grand prize, which was a free kitchen remodel.

Caitlin stifled a yawn; it wasn’t even 6 yet, but she hadn’t taken a nap and she’d gotten pretty used to them. She barely hesitated before leaning into Harry’s side, since it meant less energy spent on trying to sit upright. He paused a moment before putting his arm around her shoulders in return, and she knew why. Ever since their talk when he’d asked if he could touch her without asking, he was almost always the one who initiated it. And she appreciated it, enjoyed it, even, but very rarely was she the one to seek out prolonged contact between them. Sure she’d touch him briefly – a playful push here or brush of the hand there – but anything more than that didn’t come naturally to her. She didn’t have the same comfort level with it (though she was certainly getting there with him).

What it came down to was: whenever she made any move to reach for him first, he took notice.

“We’re not really playing the game, are we?” It was a question she didn’t even need to ask.

“Well, I’ve been _trying_ ,” he murmured, pulling her slightly closer in a move she recognized as affectionate. “Certain people keep stealing my attention.”

“I’m going to win that kitchen remodel,” she vowed, tapping her bingo dauber against the table with renewed determination.

“You’re not touching my kitchen.”

“I’m thinking a sunny, cheerful makeover,” she said, happily ignoring him. “Lots of colors. _Happy_ colors. Orange and pink and yellow.”

“ _Pastels_?” She felt him shudder at her side.

“And maybe a mural on the blank wall by the breakfast nook.”

His objection was as swift as it was adamant: “It’s not blank – it’s _eggshell white_.”

She cast her eyes to Barry on the other side of the table, supposedly intent on memorizing his cards, though he kept trying to surreptitiously watch them without giving it away. “What do you think, Barry? You up for it?”

“I already have ideas!” He abandoned any pretense of focusing on the game and dug in Iris’ purse for a pencil, then flipped over a bingo card to start sketching on the back of it.

Despite his supposed disdain, Harry leaned forward in interest, which meant he ended up pulling Caitlin with him. “What is that?” He pointed at one of the top corners. “Is that a _sun_?”

“To shine upon you and your beautiful home and family.” Barry’s words were as radiant as his smile. “It will bring you luck for the rest of your days.”

Iris had gotten up on a knee on the bench to get a better angle to view his drawing; she set her chin on his shoulder, circling his shoulders with her arms. “I like the flowers. And the birds. And the…everything. I love everything about it. I love _you_.”

Barry smiled as he turned his head to kiss her and Caitlin inwardly sighed a little. She loved seeing people in love – and when they were her friends, it was all the better. _She_ wanted to be in love – and more than that, she’d come to accept that she wanted to be in love with only one person: Harrison Wells. And while she knew she loved him, it never felt like enough – he deserved so much more. She wanted to get to a place of _being in love_ with him.

She knew Harry was in love with her. ( _Her,_ she tried to remind herself, _not someone who’d looked like her_.) Pretty much everything they did was affectionate (even romantic, according to various definitions), but she knew that any move to something more, any real acknowledgement of getting their relationship back to the way it had been in this timeline…that would have to come from her. And she simply wasn’t ready to take that step until she could fully reconcile this life with her old one. Two months ago, to _her_ , they’d been friends and nothing more (…right?) so it was difficult for her to step back and truly accept how different things were here.

It was easy to fall into this life (maybe too easy, at times). She wanted to minimize any risk of hurting him, any chance he might start thinking her feelings for him were the same as he remembered from her. It was complicated even more by the fact that sometimes her own feelings didn’t feel real to her – how could she feel _so much_ for him after such a short amount of time? She wondered how much of it was residual, the same stronger feelings she’d had for him from that very first day – and how much was just…caring about him more every day because of who he was.

She felt an ever-increasing desire – a _need_ – to tell him how she felt, even if it wasn’t exactly the same as before. She wanted him to know how much she loved him. He deserved to know.

But she couldn’t say it that second, so she settled for shutting her eyes as she leaned against his arm, thinking it at him as hard as she could. Then she bit her tongue to stifle her laughter at how much he’d make fun of her if he knew she was trying to send him psychic thoughts.

“I do like the mural you’re painting in the baby’s room,” Harry was telling Barry, and Caitlin snapped her eyes back open; he was watching Barry continue to sketch. “I have to admit that this one isn’t _that_ terrible. Despite my lack of appreciation for the subject matter, you do have talent, Allen. As shocked as I was to discover it last year.”

“I’m taking that as permission to do whatever I want in your house,” Barry said, pointing the pencil at Harry in apparent warning.

“I thought you did that already,” he muttered, then took it upon himself to stamp a few numbers on Caitlin’s bingo cards. The red ink contrasted sharply with the green she’d been using and she was thinking of Christmas again. “Snow, are you even paying attention?”

“Uh…intermittently,” she admitted. She kept losing focus for various reasons. “I appreciate that you’ve decided to be helpful. For once.”

“You mean you appreciate that I’m playing the game for you.”

“Whatever works.”

“I see how it is,” he whispered against the side of her head and she didn’t reply, but pressed slightly more into him.

By this point, after too many rounds of bingo to count, Caitlin was fairly certain she was never going to win – which was why she was downright shocked when the announcer called ‘47’ and it happened to match the last number she needed in an X-pattern.

She stared at it for a long moment, uncomprehending, then tentatively stood up, glancing around to see no one else had done so. “Uh…bingo?” she called, more a question than an announcement, and the caller motioned for her to join her at the stage.

It was Caitlin’s first win of the night and handily beat Harry’s score of zero so far. She couldn’t help casting him a satisfied smirk at that inner thought.

“Go on up,” he urged, amidst Barry and Iris congratulating her. He sent a sharp nod toward their friends. “We should get _something_ out of our day after what we’ve had to put up with.”

Caitlin went to the front of the room to get her card verified, shifting her weight from foot to foot as the caller checked the numbers. The other woman frowned at the card, then at the board of called numbers, and finally met Caitlin’s gaze. “There’s a problem here, hon. One of your winning numbers is ‘18’, which we never called.”

“What?” Caitlin looked from her card to the board. Sure enough, ‘18’ wasn’t marked as having been called. Yet on her card it was stamped. She was about to blame Harry for it (somehow) when she noted that it was marked in green, her color, and not red like Harry had been doing to help her when she missed things. It made no sense, but… “I’m sorry,” she offered.

“No problem, Caitie,” the woman said kindly, squeezing her arm, and Caitlin looked down at the name tag she’d forgotten she was wearing. “Mistakes aren’t that uncommon.” Caitlin believed her, too, since it had happened a few times with other people.

The woman went back to her perch on a stool and announced that since it was a false bingo, they were continuing with their previous game.

Caitlin went back to her seat, staring at her card all the while. “It was wrong,” she told her friends, upon seeing their questioning looks. “I don’t know how. I guess _someone_ ,” she poked Harry in the shoulder, “distracted me enough to cause me to stamp the wrong number.”

“Sorry, Snow,” he said. “It’s a mystery that we may never figure out.”

It only took three more numbers for someone to get an actual win and they started over with fresh cards from the stack.

They played on for a while, and when Caitlin got bingo again, she went to the front, only to be told (in a near-identical replay of the first time) that one of her numbers was incorrectly marked.

Once was a fluke…twice made her suspicious.

Not that she had any evidence to back up said suspicions. It _was_ entirely possible she’d been marking things wrong due to an inability to focus for long stretches (especially given her company at the table). So she wrote it off, yet again.

And then it happened a third time.

“I don’t believe this,” Caitlin said, irritated, as she took her card back and tapped it against her hand. “How could I possibly get three false wins in a row?”

“I’m not sure,” Mary told her. (She and the bingo caller were on a first name basis, by now.) “Perhaps you should pay more attention to the numbers?”

“I’d like to suggest something,” Harry called, as he stood up at their table, and Caitlin somehow _knew_ what was coming next. “Perhaps she’s cheating.”

Caitlin narrowed her eyes and pointed at him in accusation – his announcement was the only thing she needed to confirm her original suspicion. “You! This is something _you_ did.”

“Who cheats at bingo?” Mary asked, beyond perplexed. “Every win has to get verified. It makes no sense; it’s literally impossible to cheat.”

“And yet,” Harry declared dramatically, “she’s attempting to do so.”

“No,” Caitlin said, vigorously shaking her head. “Don’t you see what he’s doing? He’s – he’s – trying to frame me!”

“What possible motivation could I have for doing so?” Harry asked, as he came up to the front of the room. The crowd had quieted significantly, most of them enraptured by his ridiculous display.

“To get back at me for that harmless prank earlier.” She stepped closer to him and he gracefully sidestepped her, moving so that Mary was between them.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he insisted. “And there are only two options here.” He was talking unnecessarily loud for the benefit of their audience. A quick glance back at their table found Barry and Iris watching them as if they were the best show they’d ever seen. “Inability to match numbers. Or cheating. Pick one.”

“If she’s cheating I say throw her out!” a man yelled, from somewhere near the doors, and Caitlin whirled around.

“Who said that?” she demanded, as Harry almost started laughing before quickly catching himself and schooling his face back into stern disapproval. “They are going to _ban_ me, Harrison Wells – is that what you want?”

“Wait a minute,” Mary said, checking his name tag, as if she needed proof. “You’re Harrison Wells?”

“Oh, come on,” Caitlin sighed, as Harry broke out into a grin.

“I am, indeed,” he said, shaking her hand.

Mary turned to address the room: “The Wells’ donated $25,000 to our foundation last month. Our staff here is truly grateful.”

“We do what we can,” Harry said modestly. (As if he knew _how_ to be modest.) And then people actually started _applauding_ and Caitlin lamented that there wasn’t a wall nearby she could bang her head against. It definitely fit his luck that he’d pull something like this and then somehow get congratulated in the process.

Mary turned back to Caitlin with a frown. “Why would this…pillar of our community try to frame you for cheating at bingo?”

“You did _not_ just describe him that way,” Caitlin muttered, slowly. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

“Did you _hear that_?” Harry asked, sounding so outright delighted that Caitlin couldn’t even stay annoyed with him.

The woman was looking back and forth between them, seeming like she was trying to finish a puzzle despite missing half of it. “Do you two know each other?”

“Alas, we do,” Caitlin said, shaking her head morosely. “Apparently…” She dragged the silence out long enough that Harry started frowning at her. “I married him.”

“Married…?” Mary checked Caitlin’s name tag again and then she understood. “Caitie! You’re Dr. Caitlin Snow. I’ve read about you, but don’t recall ever seeing a picture before.”

“My wife shuns the spotlight,” Harry told her.

To Caitlin’s surprise, Mary held out her hand. “The work you and your husband have done,” she said, as Caitlin shook her hand, “that S.T.A.R. Labs and your team have done, for the people of this city… We’re truly lucky to have both of you.”

“Thank you,” Caitlin said sincerely.

“I’m sorry I was so surprised. I meant no insult, you’re nothing like I imagined. You’re so…young!”

“You say that almost like you think _I’m_ not young,” Harry said suspiciously, as Caitlin merely grinned.

Mary looked at him, then back at Caitlin, and the two women started laughing.

“I don’t like this turn of events,” Harry complained. “I’m suddenly not as enamored with you, Mary.”

Mary patted Caitlin on the shoulder, perhaps in sympathy. “And _I_ suddenly believe that you had nothing to do with the wrong bingo numbers.”

“Thank you for your exoneration.” She glanced at Harry, who’d given up all traces of fake outrage and now simply seemed pleased with himself. “He staged this in retaliation for – oh, never mind. It’s a never ending war, I think.”

“I would argue,” he said, “but…she’s not wrong on that.”

“We’re going back to our seats,” Caitlin said, then raised her voice to add, “Sorry everyone!”

“They’re not kicking her out? Then what was the point?” someone loudly complained and Caitlin guessed it was the same man from earlier who’d wanted her gone.

“I’m so sorry, hon,” Mary called, as they walked away.

“People keep apologizing for you, Harry. What does that tell you?”

“That I’ve been much more productive than usual today?”

She sighed, wondering why everything he said caused her to feel such… _affection_. “I don’t understand, though,” she questioned. “I checked my numbers each time and the wrong ones were always green, not red.”

“Oh, right,” he laughed. “I mistakenly told you the wrong number early on and you marked it without question. I immediately knew how easy it would be to lead you to a false win. Or two. Or three.” He eyed her. “Honestly, Snow, the only reason I said something this last time was because I was beginning to think it’d go on all night without you ever figuring it out.”

“I had my suspicions,” she tried to defend herself. “Just no proof. And I feel like I should be much more annoyed with you than I am. For some reason, I feel that way an awful lot.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he said, tossing her an easy grin.

“I don’t know if I’d call it _charm_ ,” she told him wryly.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Iris admonished Harry, once they got back to the table. She couldn’t completely hide her smile, though. (Caitlin might have considered her a traitor, except she was also having trouble ignoring how much the entire thing made her want to laugh.)

“She’s gonna get back at you,” Barry said, much too happy at the prospect. “I can only hope I’m there to see it.”

As it turned out, it was Barry who (inadvertently) got back at him for her, because the one and only time Harry got bingo that day, Barry also did on the same number and he called it a split second before Harry could.

“Outrageous,” Harry complained in, well, outrage, as Barry went up front and spent a few minutes charming Mary before claiming his prize.

“Sorry that you’re not quick enough,” Iris told him, and despite her words, there was little hint of apology in her tone.

“Beaten by Barry Allen,” Harry muttered, staring at his old cards like they were personally offending him. “Is there no justice in this world?”

“Pretend I’m saying something deep and meaningful about karma here, Harry.” Caitlin made sure he could see how much she’d enjoyed his loss.

In answer, he flipped one of his bingo cards at her and she barely managed to catch it. “Maybe it’s the color?” he was saying to himself. “Should I change it? But red was supposed to be my winning color…”

“How is red a winning color for you?” Barry asked, having caught the end of his words. He made sure to deliberately wave his $10 gift card to Central City Buffet in Harry’s face. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s only gotten you losses today.”

“He has a good point, Harry,” Iris said. “Maybe you should switch colors.” She’d taken the gift card from Barry and was oohing and aahing over it.

Despite her initial satisfaction at his close loss, Caitlin wasn’t entirely heartless; she could also tell that Harry was about to say something particularly caustic to the couple across the table. Before he could, she wrapped her arm around his, noticing the way he relaxed when she did so. “Is it really about winning? Or is it about enjoying the game?”

He looked down at her in disbelief. “It’s about winning, Snow.”

“Yup, definitely winning,” Barry agreed, as Iris nodded.

Caitlin was going to argue with them, when Harry ran a hand through his hair and something glinted, getting her attention. “You have, um…” She reached up to pull out the strand of tinsel, handing it over to him.

“What did I say?” He threw it towards Barry, probably out of spite. “It follows me around. There’s no escape.”

“Aw, tinsel!” Barry sounded delighted as he picked up the golden strand and intertwined it with a section of Iris’ hair. “It shines as brightly as you do.”

“A lot of that brightness is because of you,” Iris said, pulling him down for a kiss.

“What am I watching. What is this.” Harry’s tone was flat enough that it didn’t even sound like he was asking questions. “This has to be some kind of skit.”

His last line, spoken with such utter dismay, was what pushed Caitlin over the edge. She pressed her face to his shoulder to try and hide her laughter.

It didn’t even come _close_ to working.

“We happen to like expressing ourselves,” Barry told them, scowling, though she could tell he wasn’t actually upset.

“I think you’re sweet,” Caitlin tried to explain, stifling her laughter as best she could. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s…” She waved a hand at Harry, not needing to say anything else.

“Snow, you’re developing a bad habit of blaming me for everything,” he warned.

“Because you _are_ to blame!” she cried.

That led to even more bickering between her and Harry about who was really at fault most of the time – though they had to pause to harass Barry when he started telling Iris about how she was the only gift he’d ever want for Christmas – and it wasn’t until someone called bingo that they realized they’d missed an entire round because they were all too wrapped up in each other.

That got them back on track (mostly) and the rest of the time they at least _tried_ to pay attention to the game. Aside from Barry’s singular win, no one else in their group managed to get bingo, though Caitlin sure had a lot of fun trying (or maybe it was more that she had fun spending the afternoon with her friends).

Afterwards, as they were walking out, Barry and Iris playfully challenged them to a rematch some other weekend – as if bingo could really be a competitive game – and Caitlin happily agreed. When Harry remained conspicuously silent, she told them that was his way of agreeing (which was actually more or less true).

“Should I bring the car around for you?” Harry asked dryly, when they stepped outside. The sun had set, but security lights lit up the entire parking lot.

“I think I’ll manage the walk,” she said, remembering her sarcastic request from when they’d gotten there. The temperature had dropped slightly while they’d been inside, but not by much.

Barry and Iris said their goodbyes, heading in the opposite direction, toward the back lot, and Harry took her arm as they went through the parking lot, probably remembering the ice she’d nearly fallen on before. They were among the first to leave, since most of the people inside were still chatting as they packed up.

“It’s getting pretty late,” she told him. “Almost my bedtime.”

“It’s not even 7 yet.”

“Yeah, well life tires me out a lot lately,” she reminded him. “And whose fault is that?”

It took him a few seconds. “That’s one thing where we’re both equally responsible.”

“Fiiine,” she relented, teasing, and decided that if she was okay with making jokes about her pregnancy already, then she must have felt better about it than she’d thought. “I’m still going to blame you whenever I feel like it, though.”

“Oh, that’s a big change from usual.” He hit the remote to unlock the car, making sure they could differentiate it from all the similar sedans in the parking lot. “We can go out to dinner if you want, but I have a feeling you’d much rather we went home.”

“Yes, home,” she said quickly, seizing the idea. “You can cook me dinner while I rest and then you can serve me.”

“That’s quite the scenario you’ve cooked up.” He sent her a sly grin. “Get it? _Cooked_?”

“Yes, I got it. I’m laughing on the inside, Harry.”

“Is that why you’re smiling on the outside?” His accusation only made her smile wider.

“It feels more like that never ends,” she told him. They’d reached the car, but she didn’t let go of him to go around to the passenger side. There was a security light right near where they’d parked, so they were bathed in its orange glow. The cold air wasn’t as intolerable while she was standing so close to him, either, and she tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “I got you something.”

“How did you ‘get me’ something from a recreation center?” He sounded intrigued.

She sent a quick glance behind her, feeling as if she should check to make sure no one who worked there had followed her out and was watching their exchange. Aside from a few people going to their own cars, they were alone. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the red bingo dauber he’d been using all day, handing it over.

“You stole this.” His eyes had veritably lit up.

“Yes.”

“For me?”

“Yes.” She grinned at him.

He waved it at her. “You know I’m going to mark everything with this, right? Everything. Be prepared to wake up to something new each day.”

“I can’t wait,” she laughed.

“I don’t know what I like more – you or the dauber.” He uncapped it, like he needed to check and see that it was the same one he’d been using. “No, definitely the dauber.”

“Have I told you how funny you are, lately?” she asked, and just as he was about to reply, she cut him off with, “That was a rhetorical question.”

“But I love answering those, Snow. Especially when they’re a compliment to me.”

She let that go, taking the dauber back from him and turning his hand over so she could stamp the back of it. “I feel a little guilty for stealing it, though.”

“You _would_ feel guilty about stealing something that cost $1,” he said fondly. “Our last donation can buy them a few thousand. Or if it makes you feel better, we can send them some anonymously.”

“Yes. We’ll do that last thing,” she said, a little relieved. She used the opportunity of the wet ink to turn the circle into a heart on his hand. “I never got to do this inside, though not for lack of wanting to. You just…you were always watching too closely.”

“Because I knew you’d try to retaliate.”

“No…that’s not it,” she said softly. “You’re always watching closely.”

“Maybe I like watching you.”

“Maybe I like you watching me,” she admitted. “There.” She was inordinately pleased with herself as she studied the heart she’d finished on his hand; it was a near exact replica of the one on her own. “Now we match.”

“Yes, we do,” he murmured.

“Harry,” she began, recapping the marker which he took and put in his own pocket, “I had a lot of fun today. I mean I _always_ have fun with you, at work or home or…anywhere, really. So I expected nothing less. But I wanted you to hear me say it out loud.”

“I’m glad that you feel that way.” He reached up to smooth some hair behind her ear. “That’s all I’ve wanted. We always had fun together.”

A new, troubling thought settled in her mind and she wasn’t sure the wisdom of asking it, but…she couldn’t help herself. “We didn’t – um, before I mean. We didn’t ever…do this, did we?”

Confusion crossed his face. “Do what?”

“ _This_ ,” she whispered, flicking her eyes to the building behind them and then back to his face. “We’re not reliving something only you can remember, are we?” Because the sudden thought left her reeling in a terrible way. “I know you’ve never seen a bingo dauber – somehow – but if we went somewhere else, before…”

“No. _No_.” He shut his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, he fixed them on her with a newfound intensity. “Tell me you did not think that the whole time.”

She shook her head, relieved at his assurance. “Just now, it occurred to me that maybe…”

“I am not trying to recreate things we did before.” He slid his hand around to the back of her neck, and each of his next words was said with their own emphasis: “I would not do that to you.”

She searched his eyes. “I believe you.”

“You better. That wouldn’t be fair, not to either of us.”

She glanced down again, reveling in the brush of his thumb against her neck. Since they were being honest and she’d already asked one difficult thing, she might as well say the other matter that had been weighing on her mind for a few weeks.

“I also wanted to say…” She hesitated, staring at his shirt. (Despite giving him grief about it along with the others, she actually _liked_ the way he dressed; it reminded her of who they’d both been in her own timeline.)

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like where this is going?”

She avoided that question entirely. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” she began, “and I realize that things aren’t the same between us.”

“They’re not,” he agreed, as she brought her eyes back up to his. “How could they be? When you don’t remember how it was? But differences don’t have to be negative by definition, Snow.”

“I know,” she whispered, because she did. “I’m only saying that I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to love me now, just because…” She had to look away again. “Just because you loved me before.” She said the last in a rush, before she could stop and second guess herself. “You’re not obligated. I don’t _expect_ you to feel the same about me. So if you’re ever feeling like…like there’s a pretense you have to keep up…”

He wasn’t saying anything, so she kept talking: “The more you get to know me, the more you see any differences… I know things might change for you. I don’t expect –” He pulled her into a hug, then, and she abruptly stopped.

There was silence for a minute before he said, voice low, “Sometimes I think I could tell you I loved you every hour, of every day, for the rest of my life. And you’d still never believe me. It’s like you’re _not listening_.”

“It’s not that,” she insisted. “It’s that… I still have this self-doubt, about who I am now compared to who I was before. About how I fit here, in a life that’s different and the same, all at once. I don’t know what to do with those feelings, either. Sometimes they tell me that I shouldn’t be here and I… I don’t know how to get past it.” Before he could reassure her on any of that, like she knew he’d want to, she quickly went on: “I only wanted to be clear that if it ever came down to something like that, if your feelings changed...” She shut her eyes and took a final breath. “I would understand.”

_It might well kill her, but she’d understand._

“Understand this,” he carefully replied, “you belong here as much as I do. As much as _any_ of us do. And let me remind you of something – it goes both ways, Caitlin. You can also leave at any time you want. Don’t ever feel like you have to stay with _me_ out of obligation.”

“That is not how I feel at all,” she snapped, almost angrily as she stepped back from him. She immediately missed the warmth of him. (Or maybe just him.) “I’m here because I want to be here.”

His mouth was tight, expression decidedly unhappy, and she could read the question on his face: _Do you see?_

Yes, she thought she did. Most of the time. But it still never silenced the inner voice that warned her if she didn’t measure up, she would lose this. _All of this_.

“You think I’d lie to you?” he asked quietly. “Keep up an elaborate pretense for…what purpose?”

She was not going to cry in the middle of that parking lot. She was _not_. “Because there’s someone else to think about now.”

“That has _nothing_ to do with this.” He put his hands on her shoulders to make sure she was looking at him. “How well do you know me, Caitlin Snow? Not just here, in this timeline. I mean before. How well did you know me before?”

She took a moment to seriously contemplate that. “I think as well as I could, given…who we were to each other.”

He paused (and she got the distinct sense that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting). “I hope that means it’s well enough to answer this: would I ever lie to you about this? Would I ever do that to _anyone_? Put on a charade?”

“No, I don’t think that,” she sighed, feeling inexplicably ashamed. “I’m sorry, Harry. Sometimes I worry that you’ll do anything you can to make me happy. At the expense of yourself.”

“And would me _pretending_ to love you make you happy?”

She shook her head again, knowing that he already knew how she felt.

“There’s your answer, Snow. Again – not something I’d ever do to either of us.”

His expression was so open, so honest, that she found herself saying something she hadn’t meant to – at least not right then, in a parking lot just-this-side of too cold.

“You know that I love you, right?” she asked, in a rush. “I know we’re not in love – or rather, that _I’m_ not in love the way I was before. And I hate that, because I really want to be, and if anyone deserves it, it’s you. Sometimes I wonder if I’m even…” She had to look away, somewhere across the dark parking lot. “I wonder if I’m capable of it the way she – the way _I_ was before. But you have to know that I love you, even if it’s different. You have very quickly become one of the most important people in my life. _The_ most important.”

She paused for too long a moment, worried that he might wonder about her reasons. “And it’s not only because I need you for…well, all of this. It’s not based on need, it’s based on…” She thought about what he’d said to her a few times. What Jesse had said to her on Thanksgiving. She knew she was taking their words, from when they’d tried to reassure her, but there was no way to explain it better: “It’s based on who you are, Harrison Wells.” She reached out to press her hand against his shirt, over his heart. “It’s based on _you_.”

She dropped her hand and he didn’t say anything, just kept watching her. She thought she might have rendered him speechless again (it seemed she was pretty good at doing that, which awed her a little because no one else ever seemed to be able to).

“I know this has been beyond difficult for you,” she continued. “That the more time goes on without me remembering anything else, the more we’ve had to accept it might never happen. And I can’t imagine how much that must hurt you, because it hurts me and I’m not even aware of most of what I’m missing. I appreciate that you’ve given me time. That you’ve given me…” She laughed a little. “I don’t know. Everything? That probably fits. That you’ve given me everything.”

He swallowed, though he still didn’t speak.

“Harry?” She pushed her hands into her pockets, shivered a little at a slight breeze, and wondered if she’d somehow broken him.

“Every hour,” he finally said, clearing his throat. “Of every day. For the rest of my life.”

She blinked against the tears threatening, recognizing his words from a few minutes earlier. That she never seemed to believe him when he said it. That it was like she wasn’t listening.

She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his waist, and when he hugged her back, there was only one thing she could think to say – only one thing that would matter.

“I hear you,” she whispered.

From the way he tightened his arms around her, she knew that he’d heard her, too.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left feedback on this, it means the world to me! And special thanks to crazygirlne for listening to me go on and on and _on_ about this story - I appreciate it more than you know.  <3

It wasn’t until Caitlin fell back into a routine at work that she realized how much she’d missed it. The first few weeks after the timeline changed had been full of so much upheaval that she was rarely able to have an ordinary day, never mind string a couple together in a row.

It had been almost two months now, though, and things felt pretty much normal again at S.T.A.R. Labs. She went in nearly every day and had been piecing together her research here with the projects she’d been doing in her own timeline. It no longer surprised her how much was similar – in fact, her last project in both realities was the same: she’d been trying to develop a new class of stimulants that lacked the detrimental side effects of the drugs currently on the market.

Despite her relief at getting back to a routine, she was having trouble focusing. Her thoughts kept drifting… To Christmas, which was the following week. To what her child might look like. To how grateful she was that even with the changes, she still got to spend her days doing what she loved most.

In truth, her favorite days at S.T.A.R. Labs had always been when it was just her, Harry, and Cisco for most of the time. The majority of their days had been like this before, and it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate (and enjoy) the energy their other friends contributed – it was that she, Harry, and Cisco worked together in a way that was difficult to replicate with other people present. It was hard to explain, except that sometimes, the others didn’t quite _fit_ the same way.

She knew some of it was due to nostalgia for a time before they’d even known Harry, that some of her favorite older memories were actually with Eobard. She hated what he’d done, but she could never hate him as much as she wanted to – they’d worked together for years and despite everything, he’d not only helped them repeatedly, she knew he’d had some fondness for them. Feeling bad about enjoying their time together wasn’t productive in the least, so she’d long ago given up her guilt for looking back on those memories with her _own_ fondness.

Which was not to say that she wanted those days – or Eobard – back, by any means. Everything had gotten better when the _real_ Harrison Wells had shown up on their Earth. He brought a different dynamic to their trio and it hadn’t taken long for her and Cisco to discover they worked even better with him than they had with Eobard. (When the three of them were firing on all cylinders, the things they could accomplish were _amazing_.)

Not that they were working together at the moment, however. They were doing three separate things in the cortex – Caitlin at the main desk, Harry at a dry-erase board, and Cisco…she glanced over at the couch where he’d been working, but even though his tablet and a few notepads were there, he was missing.

Before she could ask where he’d gone, Harry complained (for about the tenth time that morning), “Must we listen to this? It’s the same six songs on repeat, Snow. Don’t you people _ever_ compose new holiday music?”

It always amused Caitlin how he liked to group everyone on Earth-1 into some vaguely nefarious collective whose sole purpose was to generally annoy him in every way possible.

“That’s not fair,” she chided. “There are at _least_ eight songs.”

He stared at her through the transparent board he was writing on.

“Does it bother you, Harry?”

He just kept staring.

“Then yes. We must keep listening.” Currently, “Little Drummer Boy” was playing over the building’s sound system and Caitlin started tapping her pencil on the desk along to the chorus (come on, it was too perfect). She swore Harry was moments away from walking over just so he could have the satisfaction of breaking said pencil, which made her tap all the louder. Obviously.

“You’re lucky I can work amidst a multitude of distractions,” he said, writing something she could only vaguely interpret. (She suspected he favored the clear boards because they allowed him to work while also keeping tabs on the rest of the room.) “Allen and Ramon, for all their faults, have built up my patience to nearly obscene levels.”

“And I haven’t?”

He spared her a glance that was intended as withering, but ended up far too affectionate to be so. “You’re in your own category.”

She grinned at that and twisted her hair up behind her head, using the pencil to secure it, then settled back to watch him for a few minutes (okay, maybe she had a reason to like the transparent boards, too). She tried not to think about how she was happily ignoring her own project. He’d had a habit of stealing her attention in her own timeline, as well, but it was all the worse here. She wondered how she’d ever gotten _anything_ done with him…the way he was.

Cisco returned, pausing next to Caitlin’s chair. “Hey guys, order lunch without me today because –” He faltered. “Caitlin.”

“Hmm?”

“What’s on your neck?”

“What?” she asked, rubbing at both sides of it and feeling nothing out of the ordinary.

“No, the back of your neck.” He leaned over to examine the mark more closely. “It’s a red circle.”

Caitlin immediately sent her gaze over to Harry, who was doing that thing where he was trying not to smile – to anyone else he would have looked the same as usual, but she could see exactly how amused he was. With himself.

“That, Cisco, would be the result of marrying the most insufferable man on the planet.”

“Why, thank you, Snow.” Harry seemed overly pleased at her comment.

She squinted at him in a warning he either didn’t see or didn’t care about. “Make that _two_ planets.”

“Even better,” he said, smirking.

Cisco seemed to be remembering something. “Last week, I woke up from a nap with the same red circle on my arm. I figured it was something weird that had to do with one of you.” He frowned at them in stern disapproval. “Imagine my shock that I was right.” When neither of them elaborated, he asked, “Do I want to know?” in a tone that indicated he most certainly did.

“Bingo dauber,” Caitlin explained.

“She showered last night, so I knew – ha, got it!” Harry hadn’t stopped writing even as he spoke to them, and had finished off a particularly troublesome equation. “I knew she wouldn’t this morning and thus, wouldn’t wash it off before someone hopefully noticed and told her. I almost always wake up first; it’s like she makes it too easy for me.”

“Can I request that neither of you draw on me while I’m asleep?” Cisco folded his arms. “Is that too much to ask?”

“Yeah, no promises,” Harry said. “Though maybe if you slept less at work, Ramon, I wouldn’t be as tempted.” He threw his marker at Cisco. “Check that math for me while I go rip out the sound system in the building – I think this music might have temporarily dulled my intellect.”

“Christmas music is good for your soul, Harry,” Caitlin said idly, touching the back of her neck. She had no idea why; it wasn’t like she could feel the ink.

“I’m at least installing a passcode then, so I alone can approve everything that happens in this building.” He’d gone over to one of the terminals, whether to actually do something or for dramatic effect, Caitlin had no idea. He pointed from her to Cisco. “Neither of you will have access.”

“What if I asked nicely?” Caitlin deliberately used her sweetest tone.

“Don’t try to sway me, Snow. I am…unswayable.” He seemed to like the sound of that, nodding. “I shall remain unswayed.”

“I’ll just hack it,” Cisco told him. “Or, you know, play music loudly on my phone.”

“Must you two come up with solutions for everything?”

“It’s in our nature,” Caitlin reminded him.

“Math looks good to me,” Cisco said, nodding at the board as he flipped the marker back to Harry and then went to sit next to Caitlin at the main desk, motioning that he wanted to look over what she was doing. She turned her monitor so he could skim over her notes on the various drugs she’d never finished, here or in her own timeline.

“Thanks,” Harry told him. “This one,” he tapped something in the top left corner, “was bothering me forever. A half hour, at least.”

“I’m glad you persevered and made it through such a trial,” Caitlin teased, as Harry went back to writing, but she saw the smile on his face.

“Season’s greetings!” Barry fairly yelled as he entered the cortex with Iris. He was trying to tear the plastic shrink wrap off a box of candy canes, but gave up after two seconds and dropped the box in front of Caitlin, presumably in a silent request for help.

Harry didn’t even look at him. “Do you have to say that every time you walk in?”

“Yes, Harrison, I do. Because it’s the most wonderful time of the year and it’s my mission in life to make sure you never forget it.” He paused a few seconds, listening to the music. “‘All I Want for Christmas Is You’! Iris, it’s our song.” He bowed to her, holding out his hand, which she gladly took. Instead of dancing, like Caitlin expected, Barry spun Iris in an elaborate twirl. It sent her away from him and toward one of the armchairs where she smoothly fell, crossing her legs in a single move as if she’d intended to sit there all along.

“Earth-2 has much better holiday songs,” Harry was complaining, to no one in particular. He then seemed to notice Caitlin’s ongoing struggle. “Snow, if none of us can open a box of candy canes, that says something about our team. I’m not sure what, but _something_.”

“It’s incredibly strong plastic,” she informed him.

“Right?” Barry agreed, as if her lack of progress validated his own. “It’s almost industrial-grade.”

Cisco rolled his eyes at them both and took out a pocketknife, easily slicing through the plastic.

Barry put his hands on his hips, surveying the room he’d complimented many times before. “Have I mentioned how much I love the decorations in here?”

“Only every single day,” Harry griped, as he looked around – the difference was he did so critically, while Barry did so in wonder. “I manage to block most of it out, but I swear that every time I pay attention again, things have multiplied. I can’t tell if I’m going crazy or not.”

“No, we literally add stuff every day,” Cisco said, turning in his chair to high five Caitlin before he got up to return to the couch, handing Barry back the candy canes on his way. “Harry, how did you not notice the wreath I added to the wall today?” He gestured to it with a dramatic flourish.

“As I said, I block most of it out whenever possible. Much like your presence, Ramon.”

“Saying things like that just tempts me to add more.”

“I don’t know if you could make it any worse –” Harry abruptly stopped when Cisco’s eyes lit up. “I take that back. I didn’t say it.”

“I happen to love the decorations, Cisco,” Iris consoled him. She’d gotten up and was walking around the room, running her hand over some garland that was draped along the wall.

“It’s incredibly gaudy, isn’t it?” Harry sighed, eyes moving from the holly to the lights to the fake snow scattered about.

“Festive, Harry,” Caitlin said. “The word you’re looking for is _festive_.”

“No. It is not,” he assured her. “Everyone can blame Caitlin and HR. Once they were set loose in here, there was nothing I could do to contain them. Every day I feel like I’m in the middle of Santa’s Manufacturing Industries.”

“Village,” Cisco corrected. “Santa’s _Village_.”

“I really don’t see how a single village with perhaps one or two workshops could supply the entire world,” Harry said brusquely. “It’d only make sense if he had a complex of automated warehouses, perhaps an entire Earth in the multi-verse dedicated to –”

“It’s _magic_ , Harry,” Barry informed him, pressing a candy cane to his chest that Harry reflexively grabbed. “Have some candy; it’ll get you into the holiday spirit – then your disposition can match the beautiful weather outside.”

“It’s gray out,” Harry reminded them, “and drizzling.”

“Ah yes,” Barry said, sending a grin around the room, “but we all know rain brings spring flowers.”

Harry’s voice was as flat as his expression when he said, “Spring is _three months away_.”

“That’s coincidentally how long I think we should leave the Christmas decorations up,” Caitlin told him.

“I can tell from the look on Harry’s face that he _loves_ that suggestion,” Iris said, trying to hold back her own smile as she took a seat in one of the chairs next to Caitlin.

Harry hung his candy cane over the top of the dry erase board. “Why do I feel like I should give up on work for the rest of the day when it’s not even noon yet?”

“As if your frustration with us doesn’t fuel your productivity,” Cisco scoffed, knowingly.

“Oh, it fuels something,” Harry muttered, as he wrote a few more numbers and then held a hand up to Cisco without so much as glancing his way. “Don’t you dare say you were right.”

“I’ll settle for saying ‘you’re welcome’,” Cisco replied, starting to twirl one of the candy canes on his finger – it went flying moments later, loudly smacking into the board where Harry was working. Their boss did nothing except close his eyes briefly as Cisco hastily apologized, “My bad, man. That’s on me.”

“Caitlin,” Iris had paused in the middle of unwrapping her own candy cane, “what’s on your neck? Is that from a…bingo dauber?”

Caitlin wordlessly pointed at Harry across the cortex.

Iris started laughing. “Yeah, I should have guessed.”

“She’s the one who gave it to me,” Harry defended himself. “She knew what would happen.” He must have decided to take a real break since he set his marker aside and took down the candy cane, studying it like it was some new and fascinating poison.

Iris returned to her boyfriend’s side with a fake scowl, just to accuse, “Why don’t you ever draw on me, Barry?”

“I guess I don’t love you as much as Harry loves Caitlin,” Barry suggested, ducking away when Iris swiped at his arm in retaliation.

“Hey, what are you implying,” Cisco began suspiciously, “because I woke up with a red circle on my arm the other day…”

“Guess Harry loves you too, Cisco,” Barry said, and his smile had gotten so wide that it must have physically hurt him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Harry raised his arms to signal his desire for silence. “Can you people _please_ stop throwing the word ‘love’ around so liberally?” He pointed his candy cane at Barry in accusation. “It’s disconcerting.”

“It’s _true_ ,” Iris said, in a sing-song tone, as Harry turned to her.

“No one asked you, either.”

“And yet I’m answering anyways.” Iris motioned for him to come closer, lowering her voice. “We might love you, too. It’s okay to admit out loud.”

Harry’s scowl had eased into something very near to a smile. “ _Is_ it okay, though?” he asked wryly, turning Iris by the shoulders to face her towards where Barry and Cisco had started arguing over the ‘proper way to eat a candy cane’. “I mean…you see what we’re dealing with here.”

“Yeah,” Iris said fondly. “I do.”

“Hopeless. You’re hopeless, Iris West.”

“You’re one to talk,” she said, lifting an eyebrow and then heading off to join the guys across the room.

Harry looked around, stopping on Caitlin when he saw she was the only other person who’d been paying attention to their exchange. “Am I hopeless, Snow?”

“I think I’m going to abstain from answering that.”

He’d unwrapped half the candy cane and took a bite from it, causing Caitlin to cringe.

She wasn’t alone, either. “You did _not_ just bite that,” Cisco accused. “Don’t pretend you don’t have those on your Earth, Harry. You know damn well you’re supposed to lick them.”

“Sure,” Harry shrugged, “but that seems rather inefficient, time-wise.”

“It has the benefit that you don’t bleed to death by a thousand cuts.” Cisco held his up in demonstration. “And you start from the bottom where it’s straight.”

“No, you start from the top, where the curve is,” Barry said, which must have been a reignition of their argument.

“Who taught you that!” Cisco exclaimed. “Heathen!”

“On my Earth,” Harry began, superiority implied from his tone alone, “candy canes are usually caramel-flavored. Mint isn’t even associated with them. Or candy in general, for that matter.” He paused, like he needed extra time to consider the different flavor. “I think I like it.”

“Then my job here is done,” Barry said triumphantly.

When Harry bit off another piece of it, Cisco almost jumped. “Stop doing that, it literally hurts my ears. Seriously, man, how have you not cut yourself?”

“Haven’t you ever eaten anything of this consistency? Like toffee? That’s what teeth are for.” Harry eyed him. “Besides, maybe the blood enhances the mint flavor.”

“Is it possible you’re a vampire? Caitlin, let me see your neck.”

She tried not to laugh when Cisco made a show of examining her.

“You think I’d bite her neck?” Harry asked, deadpan. “Where _anyone_ could see and discover my secret?”

“Cisco, he’s never bit me.” She didn’t even have to glance at Harry to know the look she’d find on his face. “Don’t you dare refute that, Harrison Wells.”

“I would never,” he said, trying for innocent and badly failing.

“And please stop biting that just to annoy Cisco.” It was actually making her uncomfortable, too, and she might not have cared, except she could tell he was doing it on purpose.

“Maybe I like to eat it this way.”

“You don’t. Because no human possibly could.”

“Maybe I’m not human. Maybe Ramon’s right and I really am a vampire.” Even so, he twisted the cellophane around the rest of it that he hadn’t eaten yet. “But as you can see, anything for you, Snow.”

“Hopeless,” Iris hummed, deliberately irritating, and then she gasped when Harry threw the rest of his candy cane at her.

Barry’s phone started buzzing and he pulled it out. “It’s the station, I’m going to have to go call them.”

“I have to run, too,” Iris said. “I’m meeting a source for lunch in less than a half hour.”

They said their goodbyes and Barry walked her out, leaving Caitlin, Harry, and Cisco to return to their projects by silent consensus.

Caitlin wasn’t sure how much time passed – 10, 15 minutes, maybe? – but it was enough that she was actually getting back into the science of the drugs she’d been synthesizing a few months earlier.

“Hey guys,” a woman’s voice came from the room’s entrance, and the first thing Caitlin noticed was the way Harry stilled as he looked over her head; he’d stopped writing mid-equation.

Caitlin spun in her chair to find perhaps the _last_ person she would have ever expected to return to S.T.A.R. Labs: Patty Spivot.

“Patty,” Cisco said, staring at her in some sort of disbelief, tone beyond wary. “Uh…it’s been a long time.”

Caitlin didn’t realize she’d gotten up until she’d done it, moving to stand between Patty and Harry in an entirely unconscious decision. She already knew from comparing things that almost everything about Patty’s time in their lives had been the same, including her attempted arrest of Harry that had ended with her shooting and nearly killing him. The only major difference in the timelines was that Patty and Barry had never dated here because he’d been with Iris since 2015. The two of them had still been co-workers, though, and had also become good friends while Patty was partnered with Joe.

Patty certainly read the room correctly as she didn’t enter any further and carefully lifted her hands. “I’m not a threat to any of you. I swear.”

“How’d you get in here?” Harry asked suspiciously, and Caitlin realized that with his upgraded security, Patty shouldn’t have been granted access – the days of people walking into the cortex unannounced were long gone. (Or, at least, they should have been.)

“A young guy let me in, said he works here? Wally?”

“Ramon,” Harry bit out, far from pleased, “make a note for me to remind Wallace that security doesn’t work if you let in anyone off the street.”

Patty remained in her frozen position near the door. “I’m partly here looking for Barry. I called him a couple days ago to say I’d be visiting Central City and he never got back to me –”

“Could there have been a reason for that?” Harry interrupted, and the question was cold enough that the room’s temperature might as well have dropped ten degrees.

Patty still hadn’t made any attempt to step closer to them, nor had she lowered her hands (maybe this time around, _she_ was the one afraid of them?). “I know he spent a lot of his days here, so…I was hoping he still did.”

There was silence for a few moments before Cisco decided to break it. “He’s here. He stepped out to call work like ten minutes ago. He’ll be back soon.” He added under his breath, “God, I hope.”

“Drop your hands,” Harry sighed, and when she complied, he capped his marker and moved to stand next to Caitlin. “I don’t actually believe that you’re going to shoot me. Again.”

Caitlin automatically tensed at the flood of horrible images his words sparked. For him to say that so casually made her feel genuinely ill. She hadn’t forgotten about that time, it was more that she tried not to think about it whenever the memories brushed at the corners of her mind. Because right now, all she could see was Harry after he’d been shot, on the floor, not moving – she’d been fairly convinced he was going to die.

It was disconcerting to have lived through that incident without any of the emotion that she attached to it now. At the time, she’d felt shock and horror at the situation, coupled with the terror that his life was literally in her hands. But _now_? The thought of him dying, right in front of her, while she was helpless to save him –

A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she violently cast her thoughts aside, knowing that if she didn’t, she wasn’t going to be able to function. She forced herself to focus on the woman standing nervously across the room from them. She knew that when Patty had shot him, she’d thought she was protecting herself, but that didn’t make Caitlin feel any better. Some part of her had always wondered how she could have made that split-second decision to shoot him when he posed no _actual_ threat to her. She’d been a well-trained police officer – shouldn’t she have been able to tell the difference between a real threat and an imagined one?

(And if part of Caitlin’s mind liked to remind her that Joe had attempted to do the exact same thing to Harry, it somehow didn’t seem as bad because he hadn’t succeeded thanks to Barry’s intervention. Patty had _shot_ _him_ , though, and would have been responsible for his death if circumstances had been even slightly different.)

Before now, Caitlin hadn’t much considered how she felt about Patty. They were never close, barely acquaintances, and she’d left so soon after nearly killing Harry that Caitlin never got a chance to know her. (After everything that happened, Caitlin didn’t think she’d have _wanted_ that chance.) However, her sudden appearance revealed to Caitlin that she harbored a deep resentment toward her – and if it wasn’t an outright hatred, it was at least severe dislike.

“Are you okay?” Patty asked her, confirming Caitlin’s suspicions that she wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding her feelings. “I know we weren’t friends, not really. But you’re looking at me like…”

“See, Patty, you don’t have the full picture,” Cisco explained. “Caitlin married the guy you almost murdered.” As Harry pressed a hand to his forehead, Patty’s eyes widened in some combination of surprise and horror. Cisco got to his feet, announcing, “Alright, you three have fun catching up! I’m going to find Barry.”

“Sit down, Ramon,” Harry ordered, as Cisco reluctantly retook his seat. “We might need you as a witness if she tries to kill me again.”

Patty sighed, but it didn’t seem like she was put out, she mostly seemed…sad. “I thought you said you didn’t think I was going to try and shoot you again?”

“Does that mean I can’t joke about it?”

“That was a joke?” Patty asked, warily.

“Right?” Cisco was shaking his head. “He thinks he’s way funnier than he is.”

Patty had turned back to Caitlin. “I can only imagine what you must think of me. I had no idea you two were married.” A stricken look suddenly crossed her face. “Were you together when I… When you had to…” She sounded distraught enough that Caitlin felt an actual twinge of sympathy which she quickly tamped down.

“Not at the time. It happened later.” She didn’t bother getting into the specifics of the timeline change.

“I haven’t kept up with anything going on in Central City. Barry and I talked a little the first few months, but it didn’t last long, so that’s why I didn’t know about you two. If I had…” Her words faded, like she didn’t have any way to finish that sentence. “I just graduated from my forensics program and was hoping Barry – and Joe – might give me references.”

“I’ll vouch for you,” Harry offered, as Patty looked taken aback. “You have excellent marksmanship skills.”

Caitlin’s shoulders tightened – that he could say such a thing, find any type of humor in what had happened –

“Another joke?” Patty ventured.

He nodded at her. “You’re quick, Spivot.”

Another awkward silence fell and Cisco checked his phone for perhaps the fifth time in as many minutes. “Where is Barry? This is the longest phone call he’s ever made in his life.”

Patty grimaced as she rubbed the back of her neck, surveying the couple in front of her. “I shouldn’t have shown up here unannounced.”

“And yet.” There was no hint of inflection in Harry’s voice.

“There was another reason I came to Central City besides wanting to see Barry,” Patty admitted and Caitlin got the distinct sense that the other woman wasn’t sure how well that reason would be received.

“Need to retake some weapons safety courses?” Harry asked, bitingly.

Patty winced. “Okay, I get it, and I deserve that. All of it. But there _was_ another reason and I probably should have led with it… I wanted to apologize.” She took a deep breath, turning to face Harry directly. “I’m sorry, Harrison. I should have said it a long time ago. I just never knew how. I guess I was afraid to face you.”

To Caitlin’s immense surprise, Harry seemed to actually accept that, relaxing significantly as he said, “Despite me giving you a hard time, I don’t actually hold any serious grudge. So don’t worry about it. You thought it was you or me.”

Caitlin could only stare at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she snapped, before turning back to Patty. “You should have known _better_!” The viciousness in her accusation caused all three people in the room to startle, but she couldn’t look away from the woman who had almost stolen her entire life from her without realizing it. “That’s what police are supposed to do. You’re supposed to know better. To _be_ better at that kind of thing than we are.”

“You’re right,” Patty said, and her stark admission caused Caitlin’s anger to evaporate into thin air, leaving a desolation she didn’t know what to do with. She’d desperately wanted to hold onto that fury because the alternative was letting everything back in, all the fear and grief and pain at remembering how he’d almost died as she watched.

_And it would have been her fault for not being able to do enough._

“Caitlin,” Harry said, touching her shoulder so she’d turn and face him.

“I never would have _known you_ ,” she whispered, words as harsh as they were lost. “Don’t you get that? Not in either timeline.”

“I do get it,” he promised, putting his arm around her, “and believe me, it’s not easy for me to think about, either.”

Patty was wringing her hands and she started to move forward before thinking better of it. “I’m sorry, Caitlin. For everything.” She hesitated, then added, “Please don’t get upset. I didn’t mean to come here and make things worse. That’s the last thing I wanted.”

Caitlin hadn’t even been aware that she might cry, but it didn’t surprise her. Not lately. “You haven’t made it worse,” she said. “You’ve just made us think about things we haven’t in a long time.”

Patty seemed to accept that, then refocused on Harry. “The main reason I quit being a police officer was because of you. After that, I could never trust myself to do it right.”

“It wasn’t entirely your fault –” Harry began.

“But it wasn’t only that,” Patty interrupted, raising her voice a little. “I didn’t want to do it anymore. To be responsible for ending anyone’s life, criminal or not. I almost killed you because I made a wrong decision and I have lived with the guilt of that ever since. I can never make up for it.”

“There’s nothing to make up for,” Harry shrugged. “You’re sorry about it and that says everything about what kind of person you are. None of us are innocent. We’ve all done terrible things.” His voice darkened when he added, “Some of us more than others.” Caitlin turned slightly into him, knowing he was thinking of himself right then.

“Doesn’t mean any of us deserve to die for it,” Patty said shrewdly, and Caitlin was certain she’d picked up on the self-recrimination in Harry’s voice.

“No,” Harry said, assessing her. “It doesn’t.”

“Did you just become friends with the woman who almost killed you?” Cisco sounded close to laughing. “Wow, Harry, you never cease to amaze me.” When the other three turned to him with matching blank expressions, he coughed. “Should I not have said that?” At their continued silence, he checked his phone. Again. Then he mumbled something about retrieving Barry from whatever time vortex he’d been dragged into and quickly left the room.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to apologize to you,” Patty told them. “Now that I have, I understand if neither of you wants to see me again. From now on, you never have to worry that I’ll drop in or anything.”

“It’s fine,” Harry said, and though he did seem to have no problem with her, there was something in his voice that told Caitlin he was still bothered. “Just next time, maybe call ahead. And never come armed.”

“Ha…” Patty said, rubbing one of her arms with her other hand. “There’s that humor again.”

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Caitlin asked, in monotone, and when Patty smiled in response, it took Caitlin a few seconds to realize what struck her as odd: it was the first time the other woman had smiled since she’d arrived.

“Patty!” Barry exclaimed, as he came into the cortex (Cisco conveniently not returning with him). “I never thought I’d see you back here.” He took in the slightly unnatural silence in the room. “Everything okay?” His question was directed at Caitlin and Harry.

“We’re good,” Caitlin assured him. “You two go on and talk.”

After they were gone, Harry looked back toward the equations he’d been working on before shaking his head slightly and going to sit on the couch. Caitlin joined him, wanting to talk, but instead she put her elbows on her knees and stared across the room, too lost in her thoughts to speak.

“Is it all clear in here?” Cisco asked, and they glanced over to see he’d stuck his head around the doorway.

Caitlin resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes, Patty and Barry left.”

Harry stretched his arms out on the couch. “I like how you fled, too, Ramon.”

Cisco went over to retrieve his car keys from the desk. “I know this will probably come as a shock to you both, considering how suave and sophisticated I am, but I really can’t take uncomfortable social situations.”

Harry’s expression remained as blank as ever. “Yet you somehow excel at making them worse.”

“I don’t know what –”

“Hey Patty, Caitlin married the guy you tried to murder,” Harry mimicked him, then added with an extra touch of sarcasm, “ _Have fun_ _catching up_.”

“That was me trying to _ease_ the situation,” Cisco argued. “You know, with humor! You, of all people, should have appreciated that.”

“It was a real riot.” Harry was now tapping his fingers on the couch. “Couldn’t you tell by how we all laughed?”

“Maybe I could have handled it a little better,” Cisco admitted, tossing his keys from hand to hand. His amusement was gone. “I have to go, but… You two are okay? Really?”

Harry glanced at Caitlin and then said, “Yes. Really.” When Cisco still didn’t leave, he frowned. “What is it?”

“Caitlin’s not the only one who…”

“Who what?” Harry’s question was probably slightly harsher than he’d intended (and it reminded Caitlin that he still wasn’t okay, no matter what he claimed).

Cisco’s next sentence was so rushed that there were barely spaces between the words: “She’s not the only one who doesn’t like to think of a life without you, okay?” Cisco blew out a breath in frustration. “It’s…you could have been gone far too easily and while we didn’t know you that well back then, we sure do now. And it’s pretty horrifying to think about, if you ask me.” He was looking down at his shoes by then. “That’s all I wanted to say. I guess.”

“Cisco…” Caitlin said, somewhat tearfully.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, looking back up at her. “Don’t cry. That was not an excuse for you to cry. Because you’re going to make me want to stay and I’m late for lunch with Lily as it is and – do you want me to cancel? I can cancel.”

“I’ve got it,” Harry said, moving his arm from the couch to Caitlin’s shoulders and motioned with his head toward the exit. “Go ahead.” Right as Cisco was about to leave, Harry added, “What you said…the same goes for you, too.”

Cisco didn’t say anything in return, but the smile he flashed them was intensely bright.

Caitlin could feel Harry watching her with some type of indulgent concern. “I’m not crying,” she said, petulantly, which was actually more or less true.

“Tears say otherwise,” he murmured, gently.

“A few tears do _not_ constitute crying,” she sniffed, trying to hold onto the argument to further keep herself under control. “All it means is I was a little…emotional. And,” she added, with a steadily increasing smile, “you two love each other.”

“There you go, throwing that word around again.” He was trying for sullen, but didn’t quite get there. “Don’t turn into Barry on me.”

“I only use that word because it’s _true_ ,” she insisted, but she couldn’t hold onto the light tone. Not when her thoughts were far too dark.

She got up, because she had to move. She had to _do something_. She took a few steps over to where he’d fallen and faced the room’s entrance, seeing in her mind what he must have seen right before it happened.

Everyone she knew, including herself, had come close to dying (many times over). So why were _these_ the memories she couldn’t shake? What was it about them that made her feel like she couldn’t breathe?

_Because you were with him seconds before and might have stopped it from happening if you hadn’t left him alone._

_Because you were the only doctor there and he needed you to save him._

_Because despite all your best efforts, you almost couldn’t keep him here._

“How did you get past it?” she asked, closing her eyes; it didn’t help, only allowing her to see the memories of that day even clearer. “How did you become fine with returning to this room nearly every day?”

“I put it out of my mind,” he said, voice much closer than she expected, and when she opened her eyes she saw that he was standing a foot away from her. He knew what she was doing; she saw it in his eyes, felt it in the way he put his hand around her wrist, and when he realized she was shaking, his grip tightened ever so slightly.

“ _How_?” The word was helpless enough that it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“The same way we move past all the terrible things that have happened to us. I might have some painful memories associated with her and that incident, but I meant it when I said it doesn’t regularly bother me anymore. How could it when I don’t blame Joe for trying to do the exact same thing to me before he knew who I was?” He took hold of her other wrist, too. “Caitlin, how could I truly hold it against her when I’ve done worse things than her, and for far worse reasons?”

“You’ve more than made up for the things you’ve done.”

“You might believe that, but I don’t know if I ever will.” Before she could argue, he slid his hands down to take hold of hers. “But when it comes to what happened with Patty… I’ve made my peace with it.”

Caitlin believed him, on some level, but there was definitely more that he wasn’t saying. “I know the way you say you’re fine when you’re really _not_ fine.” She wished, so much, that he felt comfortable with her the way he should have, and couldn’t help wondering if the reason he still held back sometimes was because she’d forgotten so much of their history together. “You can talk to me about it. If you want to.”

“As I said, seeing her reminds me of…things I don’t like to think about.”

“Almost dying.”

“No, not that, Snow. While that’s not pleasant to think about, I made my peace with dying a long time ago. The real problem is…” He looked at her, and his eyes…she couldn’t quite explain what she saw there, except that it haunted him. “She reminds me of all the things I would have missed.”

She could see it all then, everything he wasn’t saying: _Her. Jesse. All of them. This fantastic, insane, dangerous, brilliant life they all shared._

She didn’t know what to say, except to repeat her worst fear from earlier: “We wouldn’t have known you.” She could barely get the words out on account of how her throat was closing. “Not as…anything more than a man who looked like someone we used to know.” _Someone who’d turned out to be evil, at that._

“That’s what hurts, sometimes. Thinking about how easily this,” he gestured around, “all of this, would have been different. It kills me to think I wouldn’t have been here for you. For _any_ of you.”

“You _are_ here,” she said, fervently, maybe trying to reassure herself more than him. “We both are. We can’t think about all the ‘maybes’ and ‘what ifs’. You know that as well as I do. It’s… It’ll torture you.”

He’d glanced down, staring at their joined hands. “You saved my life.”

“I _couldn’t_ save your life,” she countered. “I had to ask Hunter and –”

“ _You saved my life_ ,” he repeated, with such intensity that her eyes hurt from the pressure of wanting to cry.

“I was so afraid he wouldn’t help you. I remember thinking that your life hinged on my ability to convince him.” _She’d had no idea, at the time, what her future might have lost if he’d refused._

“He needed me,” Harry said carefully, “that’s why he agreed to do it. After we learned who he really was, it took me some time to accept it. How was I supposed to reconcile that the man who almost took everything from me – you and Jesse – also helped save me? Then I realized that no, he gets no credit from me.” He closed his eyes briefly, leaning forward a little. “He technically removed the bullet, but you, Caitlin… You are the only one I credit with saving my life.” He gripped her hands tighter, maybe in thanks. “And I don’t just mean when I got shot.”

“You’ve saved my life, too,” she reminded him. “On more occasions than one.”

His expression was serious. And full of love. So much love. “I guess we’ll just have to keep saving each other.”

Her eyes fell to his shirt, but she no longer saw the light gray material – all she could see was the way the blood had spread from where he’d been shot, so close to his heart. An injury devastating enough that he should have died. But he was alive and he was here and he was –

She reached out to touch him where she knew his scar was, watching the fingers of her right hand curl slightly in the fabric of his shirt. How was she ever supposed to tell him that a life without him was incomprehensible to her now. That she couldn’t – _ever_ –

“I’m still here,” he said quietly, as she glanced up at him. He placed his left hand on top of hers, so they were both over his scar, and he must have been able to tell what was going through her mind. “Cait–”

She pressed her mouth to his before he could finish saying her name, getting up on her tiptoes to make it easier just as he leaned down to meet her. She hadn’t planned to do it – it was more like the idea entered her head and she acted upon it the same moment. He tasted like sugar and mint and something else, something indefinable, but which was incredibly familiar. Even though the sensation of kissing him was new, it also felt like she’d done this hundreds of times before – it felt like kissing him had meant something every time.

He pressed his left hand more firmly over hers, where they were still against his chest, and moved his free hand to her neck, kissing her back lightly. He didn’t try to deepen it, just met the slight pressure she extended, as if he were answering a question she was asking. (And maybe he was.)

She dimly registered his thumb brushing over the same spot on the back of her neck and then it hit her – that was where he’d stamped a red circle on her skin. That, combined with how tightly he was holding her other hand against him, over his heart, caused her head to swim enough that she felt dizzy, senses overwhelmed with him even though the kiss itself was relatively chaste. It was like he was _everywhere_ , completely surrounding her in a way that was as surprising as it was intense. If she had her way, she’d have been fine with the sensation never ending.

The revelation caused her to drop onto her heels, and he followed, whispering against her mouth, “We’re _both_ still here.” She recognized that he was repeating her affirmation from earlier, saying it back to her like a promise. Then he let go, hands dropping to his sides. She took a step back, needing the space to regain herself.

“I’m… I’m not sure what that was,” she finally said, surprised she was able to form words at all.

“I _think_ …” he began (and she was already smiling just from his tone), “that it’s a means of expressing affection.”

“I’ve never kissed you before,” she said, somewhat in awe, brushing her fingers over her mouth.

“I beg to differ,” he argued, eyes gleaming.

“You know what I mean,” she chastised. “To me, that was our first kiss.”

He rocked back on his heels, perhaps surprised at hearing her call it that. “And?” he prodded, clearly wanting to know what she thought.

“I’m…” _speechless_ , was what she was. “I’m relieved,” she said, instead, hoping some lightness would help her regain a semblance of clarity. “For all I knew, you were awful at it and I put up with it because I loved you.”

“You know I excel at everything, Snow,” he assured her, and the teasing helped immensely. She was suddenly back on solid ground.

“Well, you’re making a good case so far,” she told him. “I’m sorry, though, if… If that wasn’t…” She had no idea what she wanted to say.

He waited a moment, and Caitlin could tell he was being careful to give her physical space. “Do you…wish we hadn’t done that?”

“No!” She vigorously shook her head. “No, it’s that… I’m so careful about not wanting to make you think that I feel exactly the same as before. I don’t want to hurt you by leading you on, in any way, or...” She wondered if he could tell how important this was to her. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea and think it’s all come back to me and that I remember things how they were. I don’t want to make you miss, even more, how things were between us.”

“I don’t know how to explain this,” he began, taking a steady breath, “but I’m going to try.” He took a step forward, mostly closing the distance she’d placed between them, but didn’t touch her. “I look at you and I see who you were before, but I also see who you are now. To me, you’re both different and the same. There are some things about you, about us, that can never be exactly the way they were, because of the two timelines that you’ve lived. But you’re always _you_ , Caitlin.” He stopped, letting that sink in. “ _You_ lived them both. The problem is you only remember one of them. So for me, it’s not about different versions of you, it’s not about comparing you, and it is _never_ about expecting anything of you.” His eyes were intense. “You know that, right? I don’t analyze everything you say and do, how we are is just…how we are. And if you want to kiss me that’s fine. If not, that’s fine, too.”

She took a minute to process that. He’d said it all before, but never put everything together in such a clear way – that he was able to see everything about her, from each timeline, in one person. She also knew that he expected nothing of her in terms of their relationship, but she still couldn’t help feeling like she was failing him by not remembering anything else from before.

When it came to the timelines, now, she no longer wanted to return to her own; somehow, that original wish had become one of her worst fears.

The only thing she wanted was to remember this life. And that wish wasn’t even so much for herself as it was for _him_.

“I understand,” she told him. “I’ve never felt like you expected me to be the way I was – you made that clear from the very beginning.”

“Good,” he said succinctly. “Don’t get me wrong, either – none of this is to say that I don’t want you. Because I will _always_ want you.” His voice had dropped, eyes pinning her in a way that sent a thrill down her spine. “I would be very happy to have our relationship eventually return to how it was before…but only if you wanted that, too.” There was no trace of amusement in his eyes, expression serious when he added, “We’re clear on that, right? Do not _ever_ do anything because you think it’s what I want from you.” He paused and something even darker crossed his face. “Just now, you weren’t… That wasn’t because you thought I wanted –”

“I kissed you because I wanted to,” she interrupted. “All I could see was you dying in front of me and how easily you might not be with me today. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t here.” _So maybe it was easier to tell him than she’d originally thought._ “I wasn’t sure how to say it, so I kissed you instead. Because _I_ wanted to, Harry.” She searched his eyes, relieved when she could tell he believed her. “It wasn’t because I thought you would want me to kiss you. You like to talk about things you wouldn’t do to me? Well, I would never do that kind of thing to you.”

“I’m glad.” His face had turned much brighter (and Caitlin _herself_ was glad about that). “What’d I tell you? That first week? 85% chance of falling in love with me if you stayed here.”

She did remember that conversation. Exactly. “Only 85%, huh?”

He laughed, clearly appreciating that she gave him the same response as she had back then, and he sent it right back to her: “You dated Zolomon in your own timeline. I had to take it into account.”

“Oh no, Harry,” she said, with mock concern. “Have we already exhausted all possible conversation topics? Do we have to repeat them, starting at the beginning of the cycle?”

“I’m willing to overlook it,” he said. “I know you run out of comebacks so I take pity on you knowing that you’ll have to reuse old ones.”

She purposely said nothing to that, simply raising her eyebrows as he sent her a look indicating he thought he’d won the argument. He went back to his project, while she returned to hers.

She didn’t tell him that 85% had once seemed astronomically high to her – so high that it had seemed impossibly out of reach.

Now, she could only wonder if one day she’d look back and think that percentage was far too low.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been much longer than I thought, but I am definitely committed to finishing this story (and there's still a long ways to go!). Thanks to everyone still here, and special thanks to crazygirlne whose friendship has proven invaluable when it comes to…anything and everything.

Caitlin had always prided herself on being able to work her way through unsettling events. She wasn’t one to panic or overreact to things; she was pretty adept at talking herself through various issues, even when they bothered her to an upsetting degree.

She usually didn’t have to go through so much upheaval in one day, though. Or…not even a day – a single hour.

She’d been having trouble focusing already (thanks to her increasing preoccupation with Harry and trying to navigate her feelings for him) and that was _before_ she’d gone and kissed him. So now, that moment kept replaying in her head, interspersed with parts of their conversation with Patty, her talk with Harry afterwards, and her lingering horrible memories of him nearly dying. The last, of course, brought her back around to Zolomon’s role in saving him, which led her down the path of remembering when he’d abducted her – and that was around the time she forced her thoughts back to her kiss with Harry since it was the one _good_ thing she had to think about at the moment.

Then the cycle of thoughts would repeat. Again. And again.

She was going crazy, unable to focus for more than thirty seconds at a time. She had no idea if she was at least pretending to look busy, but she guessed she was, because Harry hadn’t said anything to her. In fact, he’d finished whatever he’d been doing at the board and gone over to the couch to settle in with his tablet.

Caitlin checked the clock and found it was going on 2 pm. She and Harry had never had lunch – she should probably ask if he wanted to order anything, but she wasn’t hungry. She wished Cisco would return soon; she’d always been able to talk to him, about anything and everything. Of course, he’d picked today, of all days, to go to lunch with –

“Lily Stein,” she gasped, as Harry looked up at her in question. In the turmoil of the afternoon, she’d completely glossed over who Cisco was meeting. “I knew she existed here, like in my timeline, but…”

“What?”

“She’s an aberration. An entirely new person who never existed originally…right?”

He nodded slightly in confirmation that Lily was an aberration in this timeline, as well.

“And our child…”

Harry said nothing. Which was telling. _Too_ telling.

“You already thought of this,” she accused, swiveling in her chair to face him more directly, entire body tensing in preparation for what he might say. “That our child is an aberration.”

“Our child is _not_ an aberration,” he bit out, eyes flashing.

“But he, or she, _is_!” Caitlin countered, voice rising. “Someone who shouldn’t be here, but now is because the original timeline changed.” She couldn’t believe it was only occurring to her now – and worse, that he’d already thought of it and said nothing to her. “Don’t you get how terrifying that is? Why didn’t you tell me when you first thought of it!”

“This,” he said, voice controlled in a way that she hated, because it made her feel all the less adequate if she couldn’t control herself. “This is why I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t want me to get angry?” She knew she was getting more worked up, but didn’t know how to stop it. Fear and anger swirled into an incomprehensible mixture. She didn’t know when things had turned, how exactly she’d gone from completely numb about the prospect of having a child, to the way she felt now. The mere thought of things changing again –

The loss of this person, whom she hadn’t even met… It was _unimaginable_.

Enough so that she felt actual pain near her heart and pressed a hand to her chest to try and make it stop.

If the Legends team had inadvertently altered the original timeline, and knew a child now existed because of it, how could they let such a significant change stand?

“It’s not that I didn’t want you to get angry,” he was saying, voice so maddeningly calm. “It’s that I didn’t want you to get upset.”

“Yeah, too late for that!” she yelled, suddenly glad for the anger because it distracted her from the pain. She got up from the chair, kicking it aside so sharply that it hit the wall, which made Harry wince. She went to stand in front of the couch where he was still sitting. “It’s not your job to protect me!”

He looked ready to argue that, but she quelled him with a glare, and he must have known enough not to push her. She did a slow count to five, breathing in on each number.

“This child is an _aberration_ ,” she finally told him, trying extremely hard to regulate the storm of emotions she couldn’t escape. “And a serious one at that.” She didn’t want to continue, but she had no choice. “What if the Legends team comes looking to…fix it?”

“If that’s the way you want to look at it, then you could make the argument that our entire relationship is an aberration,” he countered. “It didn’t exist in your world, but here we’ve been together for almost two years. From what you’ve told me about your original timeline, a lot of this,” he waved a hand around the room, “never happened. S.T.A.R. Labs is different here, we have a rededicated purpose to helping meta-humans and the entire city knows it and they love us for it. We have occasional meta-human attacks, but not constantly, like in your timeline. All of that is _significant_ , Caitlin. So, let’s say that the Legends are watching us and know everything: why would they be fine with a timeline where we had such a different impact on the world, but _not_ fine with one where we had a child?”

“Maybe none of that is as important as you seem to think,” she suggested, helplessly. “Maybe nothing has majorly altered any important future historical events…yet. ‘ _Yet’_ being the key word, Harry. But this…me being pregnant? It matters in a different way. It’s a person who _wouldn’t have existed_ if the timeline didn’t change. What if it ends up being enough for them to take this from us? They could change things at any time and we’d have no way to stop them.”

“They wouldn’t do that to us,” he said, fast enough that she knew he must have previously thought of the possibility and dismissed it.

“Harry, if the timeline’s at stake then they might have to intervene.” Some of her anger had faded as she talked to him, but that meant there was more room for a gnawing worry growing in the pit of her stomach.

“I don’t think they’d _have_ to do anything,” he insisted, holding out a hand for her, but she quickly stepped back – and was almost immediately flooded with remorse, remembering what he’d said not long ago: that whenever he reached for her, he never knew if that would be the time she pulled away.

She sat down next to him and took his hand in both of hers, in silent apology. He tilted his head, studying her, and then said, “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay for me to channel my fear into anger and frustration with you.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not okay for me to keep things from you, either,” he admitted. “I should have told you all of this when I first considered it. I’m sorry I didn’t. I chose to talk myself out of the possibility, and then I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t stand the thought of you…” he tipped his head back on the couch, maybe not willing to look at her, “…being afraid.”

“You can’t stop that. No matter how hard you try. I’ll always feel that way at the mere possibility of losing…” She trailed off, swallowing heavily, and when he squeezed her hand in reassurance, she allowed herself to sink back into the couch next to him. “So make it up to me now. Tell me how you came to the conclusion that we shouldn’t worry about this.”

“One simple fact,” he said, turning his head to look at her. “Lily Stein still exists. They’ve _let_ her continue to exist.”

“Because her father is a member of their team and he begged them not to intervene.” Caitlin had talked about it with Professor Stein, in fact, the last time she’d seen him – in her own timeline. “It was a close thing, for a while. The way he spoke – I still remember the terror in his eyes when he told me how close he thought they were to erasing her, and why he felt the need to hide her existence for so long.”

“The Legends can see the future,” Harry reminded her. “They have Gideon and she can see news reports and, well, I’m not entirely sure how it all works, but they would know if our child caused a serious enough change that they’d have to reverse things.” He hesitated and she instinctively knew what he was going to say next. “If that were the case, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now because they would have restored the timeline already, before it ever got to this point.” He was staring at their joined hands. “We probably wouldn’t even know that they’d done it.”

“What if they aren’t aware of the possible significance yet?” she insisted, doubling down on her earlier argument. “Future consequences don’t happen immediately, it’s like throwing rocks in a pond. The waves take time to spread out. We could be at the epicenter right now and the wave hasn’t reached them yet.”

“It technically changed months ago,” he pointed out. “And the actual divergence seems to have occurred three years prior, if we’re going by our comparisons from when you first…got here. That’s longer than I’ve ever heard of them waiting to see the consequences of issues with the timeline. Plus, they told us they’d come visit soon, why would they lie about that?” He waited a moment for an answer that she didn’t have. “I know you’re trying to think of the worst-case scenario, so that we can plan for it, but they’re our friends. Ray, Martin, Sara – we’ve worked with them many times. I don’t think they’d…”

“Take this life from us?”

“Martin, especially. If anyone understands, it’d be him. He’d be on our side, you know that he would. Lily Stein has had over thirty years to affect things significantly – and make no mistake that she has – but even that is not enough for them to go back and prevent her from existing. It’s not as easy to erase a person as it is to correct a wrong event in time.” He dropped his eyes to her abdomen, as if he could see the very person they were talking about, and she felt tears pricking at her eyes. “I truly believe that if our relationship – and our child – led to something awful, they’d not only know, but would have changed it long before now.”

He’d made several excellent counterpoints to her fears – if things _had_ changed enough to catastrophically affect the future timeline, then the Legends team should have been alerted by now. She also agreed with Harry that if anyone on that team needed to advocate for them, Martin would be the one to do so – he would never let his friends take away someone else’s child. Not without a fight – not after what he’d gone through with Lily.

She waited for Harry to meet her eyes again. “I can’t go back. If I have any say in it, I never will. I don’t know how I went from wanting my old life desperately to… It’s the last thing I want now. The person I was there…that’s not who I am anymore.” She faltered, then, as she tried to temper her emotions. “What if I wake up one day and you’re gone and I’m –” _alone again_. But that wasn’t even her worst fear; it wasn’t being alone, it was being without _him_.

“Caitlin.” His tone had turned unnaturally grave. “Whatever happens, even in the most horrific of scenarios where the timeline changed again…” He raised their joined hands so he could put his arm around her shoulders and pull her against him. “I would find you. No matter the timeline.”

“You didn’t in our last one,” she accused, voice breaking.

In response, he smiled in a way that threw her off guard. “Snow, from what you’ve told me about our life before? I know that we just hadn’t gotten there yet.”

“How?” she challenged, wiping errantly at her eyes.

“Because that was _me_ ,” he reminded her. “Not anyone else. Me – and you – in another life. And here I loved you before we even got together. So there’s no way it wasn’t true for our original timeline, as well.” He stared at her without blinking, and it was intense enough that she wanted to look away, but couldn’t. “I. Would. Find. You.” He waited a moment before adding, “That is not a promise. It’s a statement of fact.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, because after such a declaration, how could she not?

“You better,” he said quietly. “You’re not getting rid of me so easily.”

She huffed out a laugh, running a hand over her eyes. “I don’t want to get rid of you at _all_.”

He said nothing, just pulled her a little closer in response, and she no longer felt like crying.

**XXXXXX**

Caitlin stood in the doorway of their bedroom, gripping the edges of the doorframe tightly. She’d been looking for Harry for a while, and had finally found him reclining on the bed and so engrossed in whatever he was reading that he didn’t even notice her. Wait a minute –

“Is that –”

He startled at her words, immediately throwing the book off the bed, toward the corner of the room. “Hey, what’s up?” he asked innocently, like she might have missed that entire scene.

“You were reading _Attack of the Dominators_.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Harry. I have eyes.”

“Which are obviously failing you, because that wasn’t – where are you going – don’t walk over there!”

She retrieved the book, holding it up so the title was clearly visible. “Just admit it.”

“I won’t,” he said stubbornly. “And we are never going to speak of this again.”

She dropped the book onto the bed as a sudden wave of nausea swept over her, reminding her why she’d been looking for him in the first place. She’d woken up that morning feeling uneasy, but it was Christmas, so she’d forced herself out of bed at a much earlier time than usual and gone about doing some last-minute things around the house. She’d hoped the feeling would go away on its own, but it had only gotten worse.

So she’d paced for a while, had some saltines and ginger ale as an early lunch, and otherwise ignored how she felt until she simply couldn’t ignore it anymore: she’d given in to the fact that she was miserable and would be for the indefinite future.

Up until the past few days, she had escaped morning sickness; she’d even been hoping she might be one of the lucky ones to avoid it completely. But apparently that wasn’t the case. None of the other days had been this bad, though, and it had always gone away after a few hours. She was praying that would happen today, too, because she didn’t want to be lying around unhappily while her friends were visiting. _Not_ on her favorite holiday of the year.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, and she abruptly remembered that while he was particularly adept at reading her moods, he could not, in fact, read her mind.

“I don’t feel well,” she admitted reluctantly, as if saying it out loud might make it worse. “Not bad enough to actually be sick, but enough to make me feel awful. I thought, maybe…” She stopped talking, because truthfully, she had no idea what he might be able to do for her. All she knew was that something in her had sought him out, because she always felt better when she was with him (and it was a stark change from how she’d always felt before, in her own timeline, when the mere hint of illness would cause her to isolate herself until it was over).

Harry held an arm out to her and she didn’t hesitate to climb onto the bed and settle in at his side. He slid down a little so he was lying down, in order to let her rest more comfortably against him. She sighed, resting her head on his chest and draping an arm over him as he set his arm around her shoulders. Even though they’d been sleeping in the same bed for about a month, and they were no strangers to hugging or showing affection by now, it still wasn’t usual for them to go to sleep like this. At most, he might throw an arm over her or they’d wake up somewhat entangled, having moved in their sleep, but lying together wasn’t something they did. Not like this.

(Though Caitlin had a fleeting thought that, really…they probably should.)

They hadn’t kissed since that first – and only – time the week before. But she’d definitely thought about the wisdom of doing it again. Or telling him that he could. Anytime he wanted. And in fact, normally if she was this close to him, the idea would be beyond tempting – but not now when she was cursing life. And everything about it.

“I’m sorry you don’t feel well,” he murmured. “Is this helping?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t sure if it was entirely psychological, but she felt marginally better after only a minute. She’d also shut her eyes, attempting to relax. “Now just…don’t move.”

“Can I breathe?” he asked, seriously.

“If you must,” she quipped, managing a smile, and he’d given her an idea. She concentrated on syncing her breathing with his. Focusing on the repetitive motion definitely helped, and she let herself be lulled into the rhythm of it.

“I can call the others,” he offered. “They aren’t supposed to come help start cooking dinner until around 2, so that gives us about two more hours; they wouldn’t mind rescheduling for a day when you’re feeling better.”

She adamantly shook her head, not that it had much effect while lying down. “No. We’re not canceling.” Then, slightly afraid he might do it anyways if she fell asleep, she craned her neck to look at him. “I mean it.”

“Okay,” he said easily. “I won’t.”

“Why don’t you distract me,” she suggested. “Talk about something interesting. Like…what part are you at in that book you’re absolutely _not_ reading?”

He groaned and pressed his free hand to his face. “I hate how good it is. Why is it _so good_? How can HR actually excel at something?”

“If you’d ever bothered reading his other novels, you’d be aware he has talent, Harry.”

“I refuse to acknowledge it.”

“Liar.”

He brought his other arm up, clasping his hands behind her back. “You call me that a lot.”

“Then stop lying so much!” she exclaimed, laughing, and the sudden movement must have reminded her body about all the things it thought were wrong with it, since she felt suddenly sick again. She inhaled sharply, trying to hold still, and Harry noticed the way she tensed.

“I don’t think we should talk about the book,” he continued, running a hand along her back. “You’d probably mistakenly give away how it ends.”

“For someone who hated the mere idea of the novel, you’re now worried about spoilers?” She rested her chin on her hand as she glanced at his face, adding gravely, “The aliens won, Harry. They took over the world. Haven’t you noticed?”

“That…I can actually believe,” he said, thoughtfully. “And to answer your unspoken question, I started the novel to prove to myself how terrible it was.”

“Which didn’t work.”

“Unfortunately. And the version of me he supposedly kills off?”

“Sonny,” Caitlin helpfully reminded him, biting back a smile as she laid her head back down.

She could practically feel Harry rolling his eyes. “Yes, him. You were correct when you said that he’s nothing like me. In fact, I see a lot of myself in the protagonist, HG. Who is certainly _not_ HR.”

“Let me get this straight – you’re reading the novel while picturing yourself as the hero who saves the world?”

“ _And_ he gets the girl,” Harry said triumphantly. “I mean, it’s brilliant, really.”

“So you’re saying…HR’s brilliant?”

He lightly pinched the back of her neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her jump in surprise and then swat at his hand. As always, his playful warning not to argue was her cue to keep going. “I’d like to see you try your hand at fiction, Harry. It might be something HR actually does better than you.”

His arms tightened almost imperceptibly around her. “For the sake of harmony, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that last comment.”

“Did you know HR has an audio version coming out soon?” she asked. “He narrated it himself. Said it clocks in at around 15 hours.”

“Of course he narrated it,” Harry griped. “He dedicated the damn novel to himself.”

“I’m going to get a copy from him,” Caitlin said, solely to torture him. “Maybe play it over the house’s sound system. Whenever you least expect it.”

“My God, 15 hours of listening to HR speak. We wouldn’t be able to differentiate it from a normal day with him.”

“I think he has a soothing voice,” she said, sensing Harry’s narrowed gaze even though she wasn’t looking at his face. “I happen to like it.”

“We sound exactly alike.”

“I don’t know about _exactly_ , Harry.” She smiled at the echoes of their conversation from when she’d teased him about finding HR attractive in the publicity photo on his book jacket. “There’s definitely a difference. Besides, I never said I didn’t like your voice, too. Much more.”

“Oh.” He clearly had no idea what to say to that. “Fine then, but I demand that my objections are still known.”

“Objections to what?”

“I don’t know. Everything!” He was tapping his fingers on her back. “HR’s mere existence, let’s go with that.”

She laughed again, and the jarring movement abruptly reminded her that she still felt pretty awful. Talking to him had successfully distracted her for a few minutes, but it hadn’t eliminated the underlying feeling of misery. “Don’t make me laugh,” she pleaded. “This might be the one time in a million that it’s not helping.”

He ran a hand through her hair and it felt like a quiet apology. “I don’t know, Snow. My humor comes naturally. It’s going to take a really dry topic to turn it off.”

“You could always talk about the world’s deserts,” she suggested, right before she was hit by another wave of nausea. She gripped his shirt tightly, reminding herself that it would pass eventually.

“You’re hilarious,” he murmured, and she basked in the moment of validation. “If you really want to hear about Earth’s – or Earth-2’s – most arid climates, I’ll impart whatever knowledge I have on the subject.”

She actually considered it, but then had a much better suggestion. “I’d rather if you explained what’s happening to me.”

He must have been trying to work that out, since it took him about ten seconds to ask, “What?”

“Pregnancy,” she clarified. “Tell me everything, including why I feel as terrible as I do. Maybe hearing about it in excruciating detail will help. And it’s certainly boring enough that even you probably can’t spice it up.”

“Don’t make any bets,” he warned. “But…you know everything already, Snow. You’rea doctor.”

“I know, but I want to hear you explain it. I like listening when you talk about…anything, really.”

“Okay,” he said, and she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. “Whatever you think will help.”

He proceeded to talk her through the process, starting at conception and working his way through each week until he got to the explanation for morning sickness – mostly hormones, though diet and blood sugar could affect it, too. The exact cause of _why_ any of that might trigger feelings of illness wasn’t strictly known, but theories ranged from the brain overreacting to novel stimuli, to an overprotective measure against unusual foods or environmental factors that might threaten a pregnancy.

Harry was right, too; she already knew everything he said, but there was something extremely calming about hearing it in such a clinical way. From the way he spoke, it seemed like every question in the world had an answer – and he knew them _all_ – and that made her feel better about pregnancy (and life in general, for that matter).

Even though he seemed pretty detached as he spoke, she heard him get tripped up a few times, and it reminded her how crazy pregnancy was. He told her that it was simply biology and it happened every day (had happened billions of times over), but there was still so much that could go wrong. She knew it had taken her half a year to get pregnant, and that had worried them both, but that was nothing compared to people who tried for years, or a decade, or _forever_. There were so many people that it just _never_ happened for, and most never knew the reason why. Breaking it down to the step-by-step process made it seem routine, but looking at the larger picture, there was something incredibly awe-inspiring about it. How two people could create an entirely _new_ person…she knew the scientific reasons of ‘how’ and ‘why’ it worked, but the philosophical ones? She couldn’t even begin to touch them – the reality of it was unfathomable in its own way.

Maybe it was time slowly passing, or Harry’s explanations, or just being with him, but by the time he’d finished speaking, she was feeling much better – not fully herself, but well on the way.

She was also very close to falling asleep, and Harry might have taken her silence as indication that she already had, since he whispered, “I’m sorry you have to go through this. I wish I could help take it away.”

“You already have,” she murmured, and that was the last thing she remembered before falling asleep.

When she woke up some time later, she realized she was alone in bed and Harry had thrown the orange comforter over her (which neither of them had made any move to switch out, interestingly enough). She quickly did a self-assessment, beyond happy to realize that she felt completely back to normal.

The door to the room was slightly ajar and she could hear people talking and laughing in the distance, which triggered a happy flashback to her dream with their son from a few weeks earlier (and she still had hope that it might come true someday). She checked the time, surprised to see that it was after 3 and she’d slept an hour past the others coming. Harry hadn’t woken her (of course) and more than that, he’d probably threatened the others out of doing so, as well. Despite her determination to be annoyed at the thought, all she could do was try and suppress a fond smile.

She followed the voices to the kitchen, and stopped in the doorway to take in the complete disaster before her: food and dishes were _everywhere_ , on every available surface – and considering how large the kitchen was, that was a lot of space to cover. There were four people in the room, all doing something different: Cisco was cutting up vegetables on one half of the island; Joe was mixing ingredients in a bowl near the fridge; Iris was setting up some sort of deli plate with various meats and cheeses; and Harry was at the island stove, pouring something into a simmering pot. Despite the clearly defined areas, they were all talking and laughing with each other, enough so that it took almost a minute for someone to spot her.

“Merry Christmas,” Cisco said cheerfully, as Caitlin returned the greeting, and then she saw his face fall a little. “Although I heard it hasn’t been particularly merry for you.”

“Feeling any better?” Harry asked.

“Yes, much,” she assured him, smiling at Cisco when he brightened again. “Thankfully.” She took a few seconds to consider if any of the scents of food cooking were disagreeable to her, but they only enticed her to want to eat everything she saw, as soon as possible. “I’d be very disappointed if I couldn’t eat any of…whatever you’re cooking.”

“I’m making my famous Christmas brownies,” Joe told her.

“They’re the brownies he always makes,” Iris informed Caitlin. “He just claims whatever holiday we happen to be celebrating. They’re also his famous Thanksgiving brownies and famous Fourth of July brownies and famous Arbor Day brownies –”

“Keep sassing me,” Joe warned her, waving a spatula around, “and you won’t get any.”

“You can’t guard them forever,” Iris shot back, as she grabbed another block of cheese and started slicing it.

“You know I’m kidding, honey,” he relented. “There’ll always be some for my favorite girl.” He waited a beat, then said, “Caitlin,” and winked at her.

“So sweet, dad,” Iris said, rolling her eyes even as she shot Caitlin a grin, too.

Caitlin went over to steal some chocolate chips from the bag near Joe, and Cisco paused when she walked by, looking her up and down. “I must say, I like the pajamas, Cait. Very Christmas-y.”

She glanced down, mildly surprised to find that she was, indeed, wearing pajamas. The same ones she’d deliberately put on last night because they were red and green – and they also happened to be the ones she’d been wearing the first night she remembered of this timeline.

“I never got dressed,” she said dully, wondering where her mind was at. “It never even occurred to me.”

“I hear that kind of thing happens,” Cisco said consolingly, then joked, “You’re thinking for two now, right?”

Iris sent him a thumbs up in agreement. “That’s exactly what they say.”

Caitlin turned to find Harry, scolding, “Why didn’t you remind me? Isn’t that like…your job?”

“I have to tell you something,” he said, motioning for her to move closer. Once she was across from him at the island, he leaned slightly over it and said, voice low, “Remember to get dressed today.”

She shut her eyes for a moment, internally fighting both laughter and annoyance. “Anyone want a free husband?” she offered the others. “Special sale, Christmas Day only.”

“Hmm, tempting,” Iris said, as she eyed Harry speculatively.

“I’m right here,” Barry said, from behind Caitlin, and she spun around to see he’d entered the kitchen without anyone noticing.

Harry chose to completely ignore him (as usual) and turned to Iris. “After three years with Allen, _anyone_ looks good by now, am I right?”

“Well, Harry, I must admit that I love your cooking…” Iris teased, solely because Barry was mock-glaring at them.

“ _Still_ right here,” Barry said, walking over to kiss his girlfriend on the cheek – which was apparently a bid to distract her, since he grabbed some cheese from her perfectly arranged plate before she managed to push him away. “Should I leave and give you two some time alone?”

In return for that question, Iris pulled him down for a brief, but searing, kiss. It was intense enough that Joe quickly went back to his recipe and Caitlin felt herself blushing a little as she turned away.

“Guys,” Cisco said, on the verge of whining, “there are a lot of rooms in this house. Can you go make out in any of them except the kitchen?”

“We could," Iris said mischievously, “but then what would you have to complain about?”

“Oh, he'd find something,” Harry said wryly. "Most likely having to do with me.”

“Hey!” Cisco protested, before relenting, “Okay, that’s pretty accurate.”

“I think we’re forgetting the main point here,” Harry argued, fighting back his own amusement, “which is that I’m the only one who should be upset. Caitlin just offered to give me away!”

“About that offer, what are the conditions?” Cisco asked Caitlin. “Do we get his house and money, too? Because if so, Iris is right, that _is_ tempting.”

Caitlin shrugged as she looked around the kitchen in thought. “No, I think I have to keep the house, at least. Have to put the baby somewhere, right?”

“Good point,” Cisco muttered. “In that case, I think I’ll have to pass.” He patted Harry on the shoulder. “Sorry, man.”

“I’m so heartbroken,” Harry said sarcastically, as he shrugged off Cisco’s hold.

Caitlin turned to find Barry staring intently at her. “You’re wearing pajamas,” he informed her, like she might not have known (and he was about three minutes too late on that one).

She looked at the ceiling. “Yes, Barry, thank you for that skilled observation.”

“Caitlin, I have to tell you something –” Harry began.

“Oh, shut it,” she snapped, grabbing an olive from the jar near Cisco, intent on throwing it at Harry. But then she got distracted and decided to eat it instead. “What can I do to help?”

She was greeted with a near-unanimous chorus of “nothing” from the five of them and she eyed each one suspiciously, wondering if they might have rehearsed it, but they seemed as amused by the coincidence as she was.

“You don’t need to do anything,” Iris explained. “You should go relax, the others are in the main living room.” She capped that off by handing Barry the finished appetizer plate and he left the kitchen, presumably to bring it there.

“We’ll be done soon enough,” Joe added. “Things are wrapping up here and then all we’ll have to do is wait a little longer for things to finish cooking.”

Cisco checked the clock. “Dinner’s on track for…”

“Six,” Harry filled in.

“That’s so far away,” Caitlin complained.

“There are lots of snacks set up already,” Iris told her.

That tempted Caitlin to head to the living room immediately, but she still felt guilty about it. “Really, there must be something I can do.”

In response, Cisco took her by the shoulders and gently – but forcibly – steered her toward the hallway, only releasing her when they reached the threshold.

She turned around to playfully scowl at him as he returned to cutting vegetables, and then her eyes fell on Harry because he’d been watching their interaction without comment.

“You’re really going to let him push me around?" she demanded. _“Literally_?”

“You could push him back,” he suggested.

“I’m against violence,” she said haughtily.

“I think you don’t really want to help cook and this is all an elaborate act,” he said, and she had to bite her lip to keep from smiling because he was completely right.

“Still, Harry,” she said, pitching her voice high to cover any laughter threatening to escape, “your own wife gets thrown out of the kitchen while you do nothing –”

“Would you rather I came over there and threw you out instead?” he asked, walking towards her. “Because I’ll happily do it.”

“I’d like to see you try,” she challenged, eyes lighting at the very thought.

His joking manner faded as he came to a stop in front of her. “You don’t need to do anything in the kitchen. You didn’t feel well earlier.”

She winced at the reminder and was again grateful that the horrible feeling had passed before everyone arrived.

“Feeling unwell in the first trimester is completely normal,” she reminded him. “And I’m perfectly fine now. I _do_ want to help, even if we both know that cooking isn’t my favorite thing.”

A brief smile flashed across his face, tinged with that certain kind of smugness he reserved for when he’d been proven right. “You did plenty before the others got here, but I’d feel better if you relaxed for a little while.” He must have noticed the mutinous expression on her face since he placed a hand on her cheek, rubbing a thumb under her eye. “Humor me and take a break?”

“A break from what? The almost two hour nap I just took?”

He simply stared at her without changing his expression, and something about the silent request in his eyes made her soften a little – she was finding the more time went on, the more she was willing to do whatever he wanted. It was dangerous. Or rather…it should have been dangerous. But it didn’t feel that way at all, and mostly she just wanted him to be happy. (And she suspected he felt much the same way about her.)

“Fine,” she relented. “For _you_.”

“Good,” he said succinctly, brushing a kiss to the side of her face that caused her to shut her eyes briefly. She thought about how easy it would be to lean into him. And maybe stay there for a while.

The thought had her quickly opening her eyes, remembering they weren’t alone. As she glanced around the kitchen, she caught Iris smiling at them before their friend quickly turned away, as if that fooled anyone – Iris had never been too great at stealth.

“Still want me to throw you out of here?” Harry offered, eyes sparkling.

In retaliation, she nudged him in the side, clearly surprising him since he had to stumble back a few steps.

His eyes widened in comic disbelief. “Did you just –”

“Whatcha gonna do about it?” she dared.

He stared her down (or at least made an attempt). “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Please,” she scoffed, “that means you have absolutely nothing in mind.”

“I have plenty in mind,” he returned, and she found it somewhat paradoxical that the heat in his eyes made her shiver. “The element of surprise is the most important part.”

As she debated the wisdom of calling his bluff again, Cisco loudly cleared his throat. “As much as I’m enjoying this poorly acted dinner theater,” he said snippily, “whatever you have on the stove is about to burn, Harry.”

“God forbid you lower the heat, right?” Harry threw out, on his way back over.

“I don’t want to listen to a lecture about how I chose the ‘wrong heat’for your weird Earth-2 recipes.”

Harry leveled a look at him. “I’m preparing a stew for leftovers. That is _not_ , as you claim, a ‘weird Earth-2 recipe’.” He paused in thought. “Although I _did_ include a variety of onion native to my Earth that brings a unique flavor profile to –”

“Whatever,” Cisco griped. “I don’t care so long as you don’t blame me when it gets ruined because you can’t tear yourself away from your wife.”

“Mmm, I really think it’s that _she_ can’t tear herself away from _me_ ,” Harry countered, sending a smirk Caitlin’s way.

“Spare us. _Please_ ,” Cisco pleaded, but they all heard the humor in it.

His complaint spurred Harry to start lecturing him on proper seasoning notes – probably in retaliation – and Caitlin took the opportunity to flee before she accidentally learned something about cooking.

“Caitlin,” Harry called after her, “remember to get dressed.”

She froze mid-step before turning and heading in the opposite direction because she’d somehow forgotten _again_ that she needed to change (and it was really galling that he damn well knew it, too).

On the way to get dressed, she stopped at ‘her’ bedroom – the room she hadn’t slept in for over a month. She wasn’t quite sure what drew her there…not until she found herself walking over to the nightstand. She opened the drawer, staring down at the wedding ring she’d put in there several weeks earlier.

She slowly retrieved it, letting out a deep breath. She’d thought about it many times since the night she’d set it in the drawer. It was a ring Harry had told her she’d _never_ worn, not even when she remembered this life, so why did it matter so much to her now?

She had no memories of receiving it. No memories of her own wedding. No memories of how she’d felt that day or during her relationship with Harry. She still remembered nothing from before the timeline changed – but she knew one thing, with absolute certainty: she knew _him_.

It didn’t feel right to leave her ring in the drawer of a nightstand in a bedroom she no longer used. Like it was forgotten. Like it meant nothing. Because it meant something to _her_.

She had a sudden idea and it drove her back to their room, to the jewelry box on the bureau. She opened it and pulled out a locket that she’d had since she was a teenager. It was a gift from her father and there was a picture of the two of them inside, smiling at each other, which had been taken when she was around five years old. She clasped the locket in memory for a moment before separating it from its silver chain and placing the locket back in the jewelry box. She took the chain, sliding the wedding ring onto it, then fastened it around her neck.

She moved a step over so she was looking into the mirror over the bureau, carefully adjusting the neckline of her pajama top to hide the chain of the necklace. The same should work with any shirt, and that way, she could keep it with her without anyone else knowing.

She pressed a hand over the ring, somewhere near her heart.

It felt _right_. And that was all that mattered.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, thank you to everyone for the feedback so far! This chapter sets up a lot of what's to come in this story (and there is a _lot_ , since I think this is the story that's never going to end)...

After getting dressed and checking that her ring wasn’t visible underneath her sweater, Caitlin noticed something off in the mirror’s reflection behind her – the door to the next room was open and it definitely hadn’t been earlier.

She still had an inordinate amount of trouble with most doors in this house for some reason – aesthetics be damned – so Harry left most of them open in consideration. (Or maybe he just wanted to avoid her complaints and threats about remodeling every time she started hitting a door in frustration because she couldn’t find the switch to access the hidden latches.) She had no idea why he might have left that particular door open, though, and went to investigate, stopping in mild surprise when she saw Barry in the next room. He was at the wall with the colorful ocean mural that he was in the process of painting, and he was setting up an array of paints on a low table nearby.

He'd mentioned something about painting a few days ago, but she’d only been half-listening and thought he’d been talking about redecorating the apartment he shared with Iris. For some reason, it had never occurred to her that he was referring to the mural in the nursery, or that he meant to add to it today.

Positioned as he was, he couldn’t see her, and she watched him open the windows and turn on some fans that had probably been in there from previous painting sessions. It was nice weather for Christmas (though it wasn’t a white one), and not too cold for this time of year, but she knew the room would cool off quickly.

She hadn’t spent much time in there, avoiding it at first because it was too hard to picture a child as part of her life. Then later, after she’d begun to accept it, she’d avoided it because it was too difficult to consider the looming possibility of potentially losing all of this. Talking to Harry last week had helped immensely, but it hadn’t erased her fears entirely. (Truthfully, she doubted anything ever could.)

As she looked around, she had to admit that the nursery was one of her favorite rooms in the house. There were so many elements of it that were bits and pieces of things she’d imagined from her life before – even back to before she’d been with Ronnie and had idle thoughts of children ‘in the far-off future.’ The white wooden rocking chair, for instance – she remembered wanting one of those as far back as being a teenager. Her gaze shifted over to the matching white crib against the wall (which was somehow put together – when had Harry done that?) and could easily see herself spinning the musical, aquatic-themed mobile for an infant to watch while drifting off to sleep. There was already a plethora of toys, too, in a white toy chest, and she had a brief thought of helping a toddler stack block towers or race the cars they found inside.

Weeks, probably months, of work and dedication and love had been poured into this room before even knowing she was pregnant.

They’d been so determined to have a child someday. And what had Harry said about it? _It was never a question of whether or not we'd have a child. We knew we would eventually, no matter what path we took to get there._

A fleeting sadness washed over her as she thought about the _other_ her. The one who’d been in this timeline before – the Caitlin who’d either been erased or was locked somewhere in her mind that she couldn’t access. _That_ Caitlin had wanted a child so much that she’d put this room together with Harry long before she became pregnant, and now she didn’t even get to experience it. She knew Harry didn’t believe that, but Caitlin herself believed…well, it varied depending on the day. And sometimes the hour, as well. Either way, it was hard to escape the guilt sometimes, of not only ‘replacing’ a previous version of herself, but of not being able to remember any concrete memories, no matter how hard she tried.

(The most she’d gotten, so far, were those vague moments of familiarity when it came to certain things - their house or projects at work or someone mentioning a past event she knew she had no detailed memories about. And when it came to the latent feelings of affection for Harry she’d had since that first day? She could no longer separate them out from _everything_ she felt for him, by now.)

She thought again of the vivid dream with her and Harry and their son, all together as a family in this house (along with almost all of their friends) and she couldn’t help smiling, just like she always did when she remembered it.

Even if she _was_ somehow separate from the previous Caitlin that had been in this timeline, she’d still love this child the same as any version of her would. And she knew that if she had been the one ‘replaced’, that would have been the only thing she asked for, in the end.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Barry scolded, glancing from the half-finished wall of sea creatures to his open containers of paint. She wondered how long he’d been aware of her – probably from the moment she’d stopped in the doorway.

“First of all,” Caitlin told him, “this room is probably twice the size of the bedroom in my old apartment.” (Sadly enough, that wasn’t even an exaggeration.) “Second, I can see you’re using no-fume, kid-friendly, non-toxic paint. And you have the windows and doors open. _And_ you have three fans going!”

“Still shouldn’t be here,” he said, and while she appreciated the protectiveness, she thought it was a little much.

“I’ll be fine,” she promised, then insisted, “I can’t even smell the paint from all the way over here.” She hopped onto the white bureau on the other side of the room, then ran her hand over the top of it and wondered… “Did Harry pick out this color scheme?”

Barry started laughing. “He actually wanted all black furniture.”

 _Of course he did_. “I won that argument, huh?”

“Yup. And it was one you had at S.T.A.R. Labs, much to our delight.”

“I’m glad our marital issues bring you entertainment,” she said, lightly.

“It's what gets us through our days,” Barry confirmed, tone as teasing as hers. “You do realize that Harry’s not going to like that you’re in here?” He was making minute adjustments while mixing red and blue paint together, apparently trying to find a particular shade of purple.

Caitlin shrugged in dismissal. “Harry doesn’t like a lot of things.”

“He likes _you_ ,” Barry said shrewdly, as Caitlin felt a rush of warmth and couldn’t suppress her smile. “As such,” he continued, “you better be prepared to accept responsibility if he tries to blame me for this.”

“You can’t take him?” she asked archly.

“I wouldn’t _want_ to fight him over anything when it came to you,” Barry corrected, “because I’m usually in agreement.”

“Overprotective, you mean.” She started swinging her feet, tapping them against the front of the bureau. “And the baby only makes things worse. From _everyone_.”

His look indicated his clear unhappiness with her answer.

“Fine,” she huffed. “I’ll only stay like fifteen minutes, okay?”

“I _guess_ fifteen minutes wouldn’t hurt,” he sighed, finally giving in. He watched her feet hit the bureau a few times before pointing to the rocking chair a few feet away. “There’s a chair right there.”

“Yeah, but I have the perfect view of watching you paint from here.” Her vantage point was directly across from the wall where he was painting.

“What am I thinking,” he said, pressing a hand to his forehead, “of course you can’t move the rocking chair! I forgot that you guys bolted down the furniture in your house.”

“You’re much more sarcastic than I remember you being.”

When Barry only laughed at that, she sent him a questioning look. “Sorry,” he told her, “it’s just that I’ve said the exact same thing about you – since you got together with Harry. It’s pretty noticeable how you two influence each other.” He’d started pulling a variety of brushes out of a bag on the table. “I guess the same could be said for me, I suppose. I hang around with all of you a _lot_ in this timeline.” He sent her a teasing look. “Probably too much.”

“Harry has made jokes a few times about how we all practically live here together, but since the timeline changed, you guys…” She hesitated, not quite sure how to say it, and wondered if she was overstepping. “You all haven’t been here that much.”

“We’ve been purposely trying not to come over that often.”

“Oh.” His words hit her with an unexpected sting and she felt a new ache at the back of her throat. Despite what they’d all told her, many times, she knew things weren’t the same as before and probably never would be. She glanced away from the mural where the outlines were getting strangely blurry. “I understand.”

Barry was suddenly directly in front of her, taking up her entire vision. “No, you don’t understand,” he said gently. “We weren’t avoiding you.”

“You weren’t?”

He gripped her hand tightly, and until that moment, she hadn’t realized he’d even taken hold of it. “No. We wanted to give you some space to get used to things and figure out what you wanted.” It seemed like he was trying to find the right way to explain it. “We didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by being here all the time, thinking we…expected things of you.”

“Okay,” she said, relieved at the rational explanation. “For the record, I don’t feel that any of you expect anything from me. I did, at first…somewhat. But not now. I know you’re the same friends I had before.”

He nodded at her in confirmation, and when she smiled to indicate she was truly fine, he dropped her hand and returned to the mural. She watched, almost entranced, as he started sketching an outline of a tropical fish that reminded her of every Pixar movie set in an ocean.

“More or less,” she tacked on, almost as an afterthought.

It took him a moment to remember what she’d been saying before that. “We’re more or less…the same friends?”

“You didn’t draw in my timeline.” She considered that…considered _everything_ she might have missed for far too long. “Or maybe you did and it was a hobby you didn’t share with anyone. If you had this level of talent, though, none of us knew about it.”

“Ah, my drawings.” She heard the smile in his voice and watched in amazement as more creatures magically took shape before her eyes. In only a minute, he’d added outlines of an octopus and a seahorse to the wall. “I could always draw pretty well, it was just something I never thought about too much. I only did it in my spare time. Didn’t think there was anything special about it.”

“ _I_ think there is,” Caitlin said firmly, as Barry sent her a grin over his shoulder.

“You know how we occasionally have to draw things at crime scenes – not the scene itself, that’s all photographs now – but our interpretation of how we think something might have played out based on the evidence, witness statements, things like that?”

That did sound vaguely familiar. “I think you’ve mentioned it.”

“It’s not actually part of my job description,” he explained. “But the summer before last, the woman who usually does it was out on maternity leave. The captain asked if anyone could fill in for some extra money, when needed, and I volunteered. But I didn’t care about the money.”

“That was how you discovered you enjoyed drawing a lot more than you’d thought?”

Barry was shaking his head before her question was finished. “No, I always enjoyed it, but again…I didn’t think it was that big of a deal. I’d sketch things occasionally for fun, and Joe or Iris would remark on how good I was, but I never took art classes past elementary school, so no one else knew. I never even considered pursuing it – you know, in terms of a career? I didn’t really see it as a viable option for future employment.” He’d turned to face her, leaning against the table where his supplies were set up. “Honestly, even if I’d thought it was possible, I don’t know if I would have wanted to pursue that path. Working for the police, following in Joe’s footsteps, in my own way? That was always what I wanted most.”

“I get that,” Caitlin said, nodding. “You have to follow where your heart wants to go.”

“Yeah, you do,” he agreed. “So one of my assignments was to draw the CCPD’s interpretation of a crime scene where a vehicle struck a pedestrian. The victim and the driver knew each other, and there was a question of whether it had been intentional or not. So I was sketching out the possibilities of how the maybe-accident might have occurred. It just so happened that I was doing it at S.T.A.R. Labs during some downtime and Harry saw what I was doing. He was…” Barry searched for the right word. “Impressed.” He shot her a grin that was part joking, part genuinely pleased. “You’re aware that he’s particularly hard to impress?”

“I might have noticed,” Caitlin said dryly, gaze softening as she tried to picture how the conversation between the two men might have gone. “And he was right to be impressed.”

It wasn’t hard to miss the faint pink blush spreading across Barry’s skin. “Thank you. In any event, he asked why I had never done anything with my ‘talent’.” The way he spoke told Caitlin he wasn’t entirely convinced the word applied. “I explained I never had much opportunity to do so. And besides that, I like how my life turned out and I love being a crime scene tech.”

“And the Flash,” she added.

“Yes, that too,” he laughed. “Harry asked if I’d be interested in drawing S.T.A.R. Labs. _His_ S.T.A.R. Labs. He offered me $2,000 – I would have done it for free, but he insisted on paying for it. He wanted it to be an actual, commissioned piece.”

Something clicked in Caitlin’s mind – the framed, hand-drawn picture in Harry’s office. She’d noticed it immediately the first time she’d gone in there because it was hanging prominently behind Harry’s desk and there was no matching picture in her timeline. She’d even admired it closely a few times. She’d always assumed Harry had someone draw it for him on his own Earth, or that he’d gotten it as a gift; it had simply never occurred to her to ask.

She was watching Barry with entirely new eyes – she’d seen for herself how good he was at drawing, but that picture of Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs was an entirely different level. It was a sketch in colored pencils and was realistic enough that upon first glance, it appeared to be an enlarged photograph. Only closer inspection showed the careful line work, coloring, and shading that must have taken him significant time to complete.

“I had no idea you did that,” she said, in awe.

“My initials are hidden in the grass in the lower left corner,” he told her, as she made a note to look for them the next time she was in Harry’s office. “I actually traveled to Earth-2 several times to draw it in person. I enjoyed the process so much that ever since then, I’ve drawn more pieces on commission…mostly for people we know, but my name’s slowly been getting around as people refer me to others.”

“That picture is gorgeous, Barry. I admire it every time I’m in his office.”

“Thank you. I know how much his own S.T.A.R. Labs means to him,” Barry said, as he turned back to the mural, trying out a shade of reddish-orange on one of the striped fish. “I wanted to make sure it was perfect. It’s still one of my favorite drawings I’ve done, so far…and not just because of how much he appreciates it.”

Caitlin suddenly remembered what Cisco had told her, about her and Harry, right after the timeline changed: _The two of you together has made everything else better. From the reputation of S.T.A.R. Labs, to what we do for this city, to how we are as a team_.

“I happen to agree with that assessment,” Barry said, causing Caitlin to blink at him; she hadn’t been aware she was speaking out loud until he replied.

She could see, more clearly every day, that Cisco had been telling the truth – he hadn’t even been _exaggerating_ , as far as she could tell.

She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, thinking over the changes between the timelines, until it registered that she’d been watching Barry paint rainbow coral for who knew how long. “I love this mural as much as that picture of S.T.A.R. Labs.” She lowered her voice to add, only half-kidding, “Don’t tell Harry.”

“You’re _supposed_ to love this one,” Barry told her, twisting his paintbrush in such a perfect way that the colors of the coral swirled beautifully together without becoming an indistinguishable mix of brown. “It’s a gift for you both. I suggested it to Harry, despite being convinced that he’d come up with a hundred excuses for why he didn’t want me to – what’s his favorite way to put it? Something about ruining…” He snapped his fingers a few times.

“The aesthetic,” Caitlin filled in, trying desperately not to laugh. “He’s obsessed with the aesthetic. AKA, keeping things as boring as possible around here.”

Barry waved his brush in excitement at her coming up with the correct term. “You know, ever since we met him, I always thought Harry could use more color in his life.”

“You’re certainly going a long way to providing that,” Caitlin said, admiring the coral he’d just finished (and was now moving on to an incredibly friendly looking shark).

“I think you’ve done a lot more along those lines than any of us ever could,” Barry countered.

“Really?” She was intrigued. “I didn’t think I’d decorated any part of this house. Though I’ve certainly thought about it in the past couple months.”

“I’m not talking about interior design, Caitlin.” He paused for significance. “I’m talking about _you_.”

She swallowed heavily, not sure how she could respond to that, so she settled for letting herself be entranced by the hypnotic brush strokes as he continued painting. The way he could envision something in his mind and bring it so easily to life astounded her. And that train of thought led her to ask why he didn’t just quickly paint the mural using his speed – after all, he could have been done with the entire thing in minutes.

“I enjoy painting,” he told her, “and though I’ve done it both normally and using my speed, I’ve found there’s something about doing it in ‘real-time’ that makes the finished product better. I also enjoy it much more.” He sent her a smile that lingered. “Besides, if I did it with my speed, we wouldn’t have been able to have these talks.”

“Talks…plural?” She was suddenly paying attention with a much sharper focus. “We’ve done this before?”

“You had a habit of sitting in here and talking to me while I painted. It might be…” his voice faded before he continued, stronger, “it might be partly why I’ve been taking my time.”

Tears formed at the corners of her eyes. “This was our…” She gestured between them. “Our thing?”

“ _One_ of our things,” he agreed. “Our lives have gotten so hectic over the past year and a half, with S.T.A.R. Labs’ community engagements, and helping meta-humans, and then you and Harry up and deciding one day that you were in love…” He laughed fondly at that. “So yeah, our friendship kind of fell to the wayside. This was one of the few times we had stretches alone to just…talk.” He carefully set his brush down atop one of the paint cups and turned to face her again. “In the midst of everything, we kind of lost each other, and this gave us a chance to reconnect. I’d missed our friendship, Caitlin. I’d missed _you_.”

“Do you –” She broke off, forcing herself to inhale deeply. “Do you still?”

It took him several moments to understand her true question. _Do you miss who I was before_. His expression turned as grave as she’d ever seen for Barry Allen. “You. Are. You,” he swore, vehemently. “I’ll always agree with Harry on that. There are minor differences, but the person you _are_ …is the same.”

“I try to believe that,” she whispered. “I really do. And most of the time I’m successful. But sometimes I still think that… _she’s_ not here. She’s missing what should be _her_ life. How am I supposed to get past that, Barry?”

“There is no one missing, Caitlin. You were with us before and it’s you who’s with us now.” Perhaps sensing she didn’t quite believe him, he asked, “Do you think that Iris and Harry and the rest of us are different people than you knew? Because we’ve lived a slightly different timeline than your original one?”

She stared at him for a moment, unblinking, before shaking her head. “Of course not.”

“If we’re the same, how could you not be? Why is it true of us, but not of you?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, pressing her hands to her forehead and staring at the mural on the wall long enough that the colors started blending together. “It just feels different. But I’m trying not to feel the guilt as much, Barry. Trying not to feel like I’m taking someone’s place.”

“You’re not,” he repeated, and when she didn’t reply, he went back to painting while she watched with quiet contentment. A few minutes later, he asked, “You’re happy here, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she said, carefully, aware he could be going in any number of directions with that question.

“I was there,” he said abruptly, perhaps recognizing her caution. “The night you two got together. It wasn’t… I guess it wasn’t traditional, in the sense of one person asking another person out. It was more like…you two should have been together for a while before either of you realized it. Or acknowledged it. And that night, after what happened, you two were just together from that point on.”

She focused on one particular part of that sentence. “After _what_ happened?”

“Threatening meta-human, possible near death,” Barry said, moving closer to her side of the room, ostensibly to view the mural from a distance. “You know, the usual for us before. Though not as usual nowadays, thankfully.”

“I could use some more information,” she pressed.

“I was actually only there at the end of the night,” he explained.

“How close _were_ the three of us in this timeline?” she asked sharply, which startled a burst of laughter out of him.

“Not _that_ close, I assure you,” he said, eyes dancing. “I meant I was there for the moment that you two realized… Well, it’s probably better if you hear it from Harry.”

“He tries not to tell me things in too much detail,” she reminded Barry, “and it’s not only because I don’t like hearing about the things I missed, as you know.”

“Right,” Barry nodded, “Harry went over all of that with us.”

In their research on possible methods of recovering lost memories, they’d found that some experts recommended friends and family refrain from telling the affected person specific memories with explicit detail. It could interfere with real memory retrieval by confusing the person’s mind with extraneous details. Some amnesia sufferers had even reported that when they began recovering real memories, they had difficulty distinguishing between those memories and the versions of events they’d heard about from others. (And whether any of that applied in Caitlin’s extremely unique case, they figured it was better safe than sorry.)

“In any event,” Barry was saying, “telling you about the details of that night wasn’t my point – my point was that I remember what it was like when you two weren’t together, but had feelings for each other.”

Caitlin was genuinely curious. “Are you trying to say that’s what you see now? From me?”

Barry studied her, deep in thought. “Do you love him?” he asked, avoiding her question entirely.

“Very much,” she replied, instantly. “The only problem is that I don’t know if I love him in the same way as before. I can’t remember how that felt, but it always seems to me like whatever I feel _now_ …” She sighed, frustrated. “It never seems like enough. I even worry sometimes that I’m not capable of it.”

Barry was watching her intently. “I believe that you think that, and I know that’s a big part of the issue, but are you sure there’s not more to it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not a relationship counselor and I’m not trying to tell you how you feel or don’t feel, but are you sure that part of you isn’t holding back from him on purpose?”

“No,” she said, confused. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t mean consciously,” Barry tried to explain, “but without realizing it, maybe. Because –”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she interrupted, not sure she wanted to hear any more.

But Barry kept talking: “Because once you admit that you have something, that’s when you can lose it.”

She leaned back against the wall, letting out a deep breath. He might as well have reached inside her head and pulled out her worst, most visceral fear. Although she’d talked to Harry about it a few times, she hadn’t told anyone else that losing this life was a thought that consumed her sometimes. (This life that might not even _belong to her_.)

“I’m already afraid of losing things,” she admitted, shakily. “Everything here. Including him – in fact, him most of all.”

“There’s still a difference,” Barry told her. “A difference between losing someone you love, and losing someone you’re in love _with_. The former is horrible enough, but the latter… How do you get through that?”

“It’s hard,” Caitlin said, and she was surprised her eyes stayed dry, but maybe the topic had worn her enough by now that she simply couldn’t cry over it anymore. “It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. And I did it twice, Barry. How could I ever do it again? If I let myself feel that deeply…I don’t know what I would do if I lost it. Again. It’s _terrifying_.”

“Love _is_ terrifying,” he agreed. “The thought of losing Iris…I don’t want to live in that world. But I know it’s a real possibility for me and everyone else who’s alive. It’s the cost of loving people, Caitlin. You know it because you’ve paid it. What’s the alternative? Closing yourself off for the rest of your life?”

Any response she might have been forming died in her throat as she stared at him. He was right and he knew it. And she knew it, too.

And maybe that wasn’t all that was holding her back, but it was definitely part of it, a place deep inside that warned her every time she thought about what it might be like to let go – to allow herself to try and fall in love again. It warned her that she shouldn’t get too attached to Harry or this world or this life, because while losing everything wouldn’t actually kill her…she might very well want it to.

( _And what if you’re too attached already_? her mind whispered.)

“The world hasn’t been kind to many of us, and to you it’s been…particularly harsh,” Barry was saying, voice gentle in a way that made Caitlin hurt all over. “The death of your father. How your mother treated you after that. Losing Ronnie – twice. Eobard pretending to be Harrison Wells and his betrayal of us – I know he was a mentor to you, to all of us. And then, once you found yourself caring again, it was Hunter Zolomon who used you, who took you and hurt you, and we thought we might not –” Pain flashed across Barry’s face and it took him some time to recompose himself. “Life wasn’t fair to you, not for a long time.”

“And it’s fair _now_?” she lashed out, because no, it still wasn’t (and he of all people should see that). “It took every memory I had of a relationship that –” _That was already too important to her to even find the right words to describe it._

“Every memory, Caitlin?” His voice was tinged with an anger she wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Because you remember the past two months, don’t you? Look around you, look at your life.” He made an effort to gentle his voice. “I know that you’re missing a lot of memories and I can’t imagine how incredibly difficult that must be for you to have to deal with every day. I don’t know how I would react if it happened to me, but probably pretty badly. Yet, despite that, the argument could be made that the timeline changing didn’t _take_ your memories, but rather _gave_ you this life, since your previous one was significantly different. It gave this life to every single one of us when we never had it to begin with.”

She knew that all too well. Ever since things had changed, she’d had to accept everything that was different; it had always been about reconciling her two lives and deciding which aspects of each she wanted to keep. She’d spent too long lamenting the changes and thinking how unfair it was that she was the only one who had to deal with having no memories of the new timeline. And in the end, none of that mattered, because she was happier here despite all of that, and she’d known it long before Barry had tried to steer her towards that truth.

“It’s okay to be happy here,” Barry was saying, softly. “It’s okay to try and fall in love again. I know experience has taught you otherwise, but loving someone doesn’t mean that they’re going to be taken from you. I don’t just mean Harry, either… I’m talking about all of us.”

“It’s dangerous here, Barry,” she admitted. “It’s only been two months and I already feel like I don’t want to live in any other timeline. Like I _can’t_ live any other life.”

“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “And you’ll never have to live without us. Not in any timeline.”

“I hope you’re right,” she said, glancing down because she knew she was about to cry.

“I _am_ right,” he promised, pulling her into a hug, and they both pretended not to notice the way her breath hitched as she held onto him too tightly. “Maybe you’ve been thinking about things the wrong way, Caitlin. Instead of trying to ‘fit in’ – no,” he said, when she tried to interrupt, “don’t argue that. I know it’s something you still do. But instead, you should be making this life fit _you_. Maybe it would help if you had something to focus on that was just yours. An idea or a project…”

“Like what?”

“I’m not sure. But something more than what you ‘inherited’ here, so to speak.” He stepped away from her and paced a little as he brainstormed. “If this had always been your life, if the timeline never changed… If this was just our normal world and there was no fear of losing it, and you had the means to do anything – which, let’s face it, you kind of do – what would you _want_? What would you want to do for yourself or for someone else? Anything, Caitlin. Anything at all.”

Her mind was spinning by the time he got to the end of his questions. _Anything at all_. In those terms, she didn’t even have to think about it – the answer was simple, and obvious. “I want to do something for Harry.”

Barry looked entirely unsurprised, like he might have known her answer would have something to do with Harrison Wells. “What do you have in mind?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, but she was smiling again, and felt inexplicably lighter. “That’s as far as I got. But I want to come up with some way to thank him, to show him how much I appreciate him and…” Her smile faded as she lost her train of thought. “Do you understand how terrible things would have been for me if I had woken up married to anyone else? _Anyone_ else? I could never have…” She had to stop for a few seconds. “I couldn’t have done this with another person and our life would look a lot different right now. You and I certainly wouldn’t be here, talking while you painted a nursery. I know that much, Barry.” (She knew it for a fact; she knew it in her _soul_.)

“I believe you,” he said, quietly. “And I happen to agree. I think you ended up right where you belonged. And with the right person, too.” He pointed at her, then. “You smile almost every time I mention him, did you know that? Every time anyone mentions him, or talks about him. That’s what I was talking about a few minutes ago. You looked like that before. Back before you knew you were in love.” He thought about that. “And a lot of the time after, too.”

Caitlin knew she might be blushing. “Barry, are you trying to play matchmaker?” she deflected.

“Depends, is it working?”

“Little late. We’re already married.”

“Uh huh,” he said, sending her a knowing (and somewhat sly) look. Then he shook his head and said, “But back to what you were saying – you wanted to come up with a gift for him.”

“Yes.” In fact, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of doing that until now. “This could be the first thing that’s entirely from me. The first thing that’s not attributable to who I was before, or that’s left over in some way from a relationship I don’t remember. Things are much better than they have any right to be, given everything that’s happened, but there’s always been a one-sidedness to our relationship that can’t be helped. Just by nature of the fact that he remembers it all and I don’t. It seems he’s always doing things _for me_ and there’s really been no way I could respond in kind. But if I think of something to express my gratitude, this could be the start of…”

“Feeling like you truly have agency in your life?” Barry asked, mostly rhetorical.

“Exactly,” she said, relieved that he understood exactly where she was coming from. “Instead of a passive participant having to navigate a world of decisions ‘I’ made long ago and don’t remember. It would also put our relationship on more even ground.”

“Maybe feeling more like equals could help you clear whatever mental block you have that’s keeping you at a distance from him,” Barry suggested. “Though if you ask me –”

“I didn’t ask you,” she interrupted, but there was humor in it. She didn’t need to be told about all the feelings Barry was certain she was repressing. Because even if that was true, she still didn’t believe that what she felt was anywhere near what Harry deserved. (And maybe finding some way to thank him would go a long way towards helping that, too.)

“He would love anything you gave him,” Barry told her. “But he would also never expect anything from you. He doesn’t want anything in return for…how he is. He does what he does because he loves you.” He shrugged. “And the rest of us, too. Probably. Most days.”

She laughed a little. “I know he loves all of us. And I know he doesn’t want any kind of repayment. But giving him something, somehow, in some way…I need to do this for me as much as for him.”

“I understand. And hey,” he pointed his brush at a clock on the wall, “your fifteen minutes are almost up. You promised. I’m sure we can find a better place to talk from now on.”

“Fair enough.” She slid off the bureau, still sure she was perfectly safe, but upsetting Barry or the others wasn't something she wanted to do.

“Also, if you need any help thinking of something for Harry, I’ll keep it in mind. Or we could ask the others, too.”

“I appreciate that, but I want it to come from me. Something on my own, remember?”

“I’m not the one with problems remembering,” he quipped, then winced before asking sheepishly, “Too soon?”

She was laughing. “Nah, it sounds about right.”

“Truly, though. The offer stands.”

She nodded in acknowledgement and gave the ocean mural one last, long look before leaving the room.

For some reason, all she could see in her mind was the picture Barry had drawn of Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I realized upon going to post this, today marks a year of this story, so I think this chapter is especially fitting in honor of that. This (finally) wraps up Christmas Day for the whole team (get it? wraps? :D). While this might seem sort-of like an end, it's definitely not, and as I'm always saying in these notes, there's a lot more of this story to go – both planned, and already written. Thank you to everyone who has read and enjoyed this – whether you have left feedback or been a silent fan, I truly love that this story has made other people happy, because the process of writing it has been one of my favorite things I've ever done. I hope you all have a wonderful holiday season. <3

After her unexpectedly emotional talk with Barry, Caitlin decided to wander through the house for a few minutes, needing the time to think over what he’d said. She ended up in the library, skimming various book titles without really processing them, and tried to get back into the cheerful holiday spirit that usually came naturally to her at this time of year. There was a time to be overly emotional (which was seemingly _all_ the time, lately) and a time to simply appreciate being with her family and friends. She was determined to spend most of Christmas Day enjoying the latter.

Once she’d convinced herself she was in the right frame of mind, she made her way to the front of the house, delighted upon realizing there was holiday music playing. It got louder the closer she got to the front door – she knew the house’s sound system could play it everywhere, but Harry must have turned it off in the other rooms.

She stepped into the living room and nearly ran headlong into HR who was standing just inside the doorway.

“Caitlin, you’re up!” he exclaimed, and then his joyful smile slipped into concern. “Should you be up?”

“I’m fine,” she told him, with an answering smile. “I’m doing much better.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said, as she moved past him, glancing around to find the only others present were Jesse and Wally cuddled up together and talking quietly on a nearby couch. This was the nearly-sterile room she’d woken up in two months earlier, and it had been completely transformed into the most decorated room in the house: garlands and lights and decorations were arranged everywhere (Harry had made sure it was done ‘tastefully’), and the pinnacle was the Christmas tree in the corner, which was properly lit with strands of lights that reflected on an assortment of brightly wrapped packages underneath it.

Caitlin took a moment to enjoy the festiveness of the room and then turned her attention to the vast array of appetizers and snacks spread across various coffee tables and end tables. She was most likely going to ruin her appetite for dinner and she didn’t even care.

“Did you know,” HR was saying, voice rising with irritation, “that Harrison told us we weren’t to wake you – as if _I_ would need to be told not to wake you!”

“How dare he insinuate you’d ever be capable of bothering me,” Caitlin said, overly theatrical, as she caught Jesse and Wally laughing at them out of the corner of her eye.

“I know!” HR cried, not picking up on her exaggeration. He shook his head in frustration, calming down a little, then asked, “Is he taking care of you, though? He better be.”

Caitlin regarded him seriously. “Do you really need to ask that?”

HR sighed with some reluctance. “No, I don’t. It’s just…with everything that’s happened…” His gaze strayed downward, to her abdomen, and then back up to her eyes as he shrugged, a little helplessly.

“I’m okay,” Caitlin promised, stepping over to hug him, because she sensed he needed it more than she did. Or at least, that was the first and most convenient excuse that came into her mind.

“Good,” HR whispered, hugging her briefly in return. “You know, Earth-57 has some wonderful home remedies for morning sickness – for every kind of ailment, actually.”

She smiled up at him. “Is that so?”

“We have a drink that’s similar to tea on this Earth. The main ingredient is redberries, which you guys actually don’t have. Isn’t that strange? You have blackberries and blueberries, but no redberries! They don’t exist here.”

“I wonder why,” Caitlin said, only half-listening, as she moved over to take a seat on the couch that was nearest to the best snack table – it included the appetizer plate Iris had meticulously put together in the kitchen.

“What are redberries?” Jesse asked curiously, from the couch opposite, which reminded Caitlin that she and Wally had been listening the whole time.

“They’re nothing like any of the red-colored berries on your earth.” HR was staring off into space, lost in thought. “And really, you could have used that name for any of them. Like strawberries. Cranberries. Raspberries –”

“We get it,” Wally interrupted. “There are a lot of red berries and none of them use the name ‘redberry’.”

“It’s peculiar, you have to admit,” HR insisted. “But the point I was getting to before you sidetracked me –”

“Oh yes,” Jesse interrupted. “It was us.”

HR glared at her, but it was much too fond to be scolding. “Redberries are a potent, natural, anti-nausea drug.” He turned back to Caitlin. “I’ll bring you some the next time I visit.”

“So…next week?” Harry asked, having heard the end of the conversation when he entered the room.

Caitlin turned to meet his eyes in the doorway, involuntarily smiling even as she remembered what Barry had accused her of not a half hour earlier, that she smiled whenever anyone even _mentioned_ him. She really couldn’t help it, though, something in her always…relaxed when he was around. Like there was some knot she was only ever vaguely aware of until he showed up, and that was when she felt it disentangling enough that she could tell the difference.

Meanwhile, HR was defending himself against Harry’s implication. “I’m not here _that_ much,” he insisted, then paused. “Am I?”

“You are,” a chorus of voices answered, as HR glanced around in surprise.

“Not that we mind,” Jesse added.

“Speak for yourself,” Harry told his daughter.

“I know you love me, Harrison,” HR needled him.

“I’ll kindly ask you to stop telling such egregious lies in my own home,” Harry said, taking a seat on the couch next to Caitlin.

She looked at him askance. “I find it ironic that _you_ would complain about people lying…”

“I never lie!” Harry blatantly lied. “And if I did, well…” He smirked at her. “Good luck proving it.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to throw some of the snacks at him, or just lean into his side and relax, and that was when Cisco came into the room (with Iris and Joe trailing shortly after).

“Everything’s done prep-wise,” Cisco informed them. “All that’s left is to wait for things to cook.” He looked around for a moment, seeming to appreciate the decor for the first time that day. “We really went all out, didn’t we? It was definitely worth it.”

Harry was nodding in apparent satisfaction at how everything had turned out (despite his numerous and vehement protests against ‘everything overly-Christmas’ that had accompanied the entire decorating process). When Jesse started singing along to “Winter Wonderland” (probably only to annoy him), he frowned at her. “Do we really have to listen to –”

“Dad,” she scolded, “you cannot possibly object to listening to Christmas music _on Christmas_.”

“I can object to whatever I want, whenever I want,” he shot back. “Watch me.”

His daughter was obviously unimpressed with his ‘argument’. “You’re ridiculous,” she said succinctly, as his eyes widened.

“This is _my_ house,” he reminded her. “What I say goes.”

“It’s Caitlin’s house, too,” Iris reminded everyone (and to Caitlin’s dismay, was pointing right at her). “And I know for a fact that she thoroughly enjoys this music.”

“Iris, please,” Harry scolded, “it’s not polite to point out a person’s flaws.”

“I have a good one,” Cisco said, with a knowing look to Caitlin before he told Harry in a stage whisper, “She married _you_.” The glare Harry turned on him caused Caitlin to almost choke on her laughter. And when he turned that same glare on her, she only laughed harder.

“The only thing that proves is she has exceptional taste,” Harry asserted.

“I happen to agree with you,” she said, once her laughter faded. She knew that Harry didn’t take _anything_ Cisco said seriously (and the two men loved each other much more here than she was used to), but part of her belatedly worried that he might think there was some truth in what the other man had said. (Especially because Caitlin herself found the joke to be funny.) “Marrying you was one of the best decisions I don’t remember making here,” she added, softly enough that only he could hear her. “Maybe _the_ best one.”

“What have I been trying to tell you?” he asked lightly, but she saw the warmth in his expression and knew he’d taken what she said to heart. “And the same is true for me, you know. Except for the minor part where I remember everything, that is.”

She knew that, too. And she knew his intention hadn’t been to make her sad, but she still felt it seeping in anyways. As she struggled to find something reassuring to say, Iris appeared before them and Caitlin was inexplicably glad for the distraction.

“Harrison Wells.” Iris had her hands on her hips and was watching with disapproval as he took a handful of red and green M&M’s from a decorative glass dish. “Are you seriously going to eat M&M’s when I spent so much time on this delicious charcuterie tray that’s _right next to them_?”

He’d frozen with a hand halfway to his mouth. “Um. This candy is…an appetizer to…your appetizer. Of course.”

Iris narrowed her eyes at him just as HR came over and made a show of taking copious amounts of food from her meticulously prepared arrangement. “I, for one,” HR proclaimed, “think this appetizer is the best of everything in the room. I can’t wait to…” he hesitated, like he was searching for the right end to his sentence, “…eat all of this?”

“At least someone around here appreciates actual effort,” Iris sniffed.

Harry reached over to take some cheese from the tray. “It’s lovely, Iris. Look, this cheese is so…perfectly cubed. It’s almost a shame to eat it.”

“Save it, Harry,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Go back to your candy. I know who my _real_ friends are.” She shot a grin at HR who leaned over to kiss her cheek.

When Iris wandered off to talk to Cisco, Caitlin noticed HR studying his plate as if not sure he really wanted to eat it, and she realized that he’d only taken the food to appease Iris. She held out a hand in silent offer and he gratefully handed it over. Neither she nor Harry missed when HR went to take some M&M’s for himself and she gleefully mouthed at Harry, ‘You’re the same’.

“Take that back!” Harry gasped, as Caitlin happily ignored him and HR offered Harry the candy dish. After a few seconds, wherein he must have decided his pride wasn’t worth it, Harry shrugged and took the proffered candy.

Meanwhile, Caitlin was examining the plate of meat, cheese, and crackers, debating the best way to eat it. “Do sandwiches need bread?” she asked the room in general, though her gaze happened to land on the opposite couch with Jesse and Wally.

“I think that’s their definition,” Wally replied, confused.

“Who asked you, Wallace,” Caitlin complained, sending him a look of discontent.

“You did!” he pointed out.

“Well, what do you know, anyways?”

“I know the definition of a sandwich,” he griped, as Caitlin pinned him with another look. He turned to Jesse to mutter, “Was she always this unreasonable?”

“Was I always this _what_?” Caitlin asked, voice low.

“Maybe stop while you’re behind,” Jesse said, patting Wally’s shoulder and smiling at Caitlin.

Wally reached up to press his hand over Jesse’s. “Promise me that when we have kids you won’t be as…” His words faded when he noticed Caitlin was still staring at them. “As beautiful and delightful as Caitlin is every single day. I couldn’t handle it.”

“Nice try,” Caitlin told him, but she was already grinning even as she spoke.

“Hey, I happen to agree,” HR said, perching on the arm of the couch next to her. “Beautiful and delightful are both words that sum you up perfectly.”

Caitlin beamed at him. “Why, thank you, HR.”

“Do you two want the room?” Harry asked dryly.

“That’s so generous of you,” Caitlin told him. “I always dreamed of a husband who would share me with other men.”

“Caitlin,” Cisco pleaded, “let’s keep your fantasies out of the living room. Unless your gift this year is to traumatize me?”

“I could find _much_ better ways to do that,” she told him, lacing her tone with as much suggestion as possible (which was to say, not too much, since she was fighting back laughter).

“Could you now?” HR whipped out a notepad and pen from his shirt pocket, which he rapidly clicked a few times. “Want to tell them to me? In explicit detail, if you please.”

“HR,” Iris said, tone scolding enough that he grimaced and sent her an apologetic smile, “maybe you should focus more on how you’re on my bad side now. Since you obviously didn’t want the food I made and pawned it off on Caitlin.”

“It’s not what it looked like,” he claimed. “Didn’t you see Caitlin wrench the plate from my hands in her ravenous hunger? And really,” his voice had turned as scolding as hers, “do you want your friend to starve? When she’s _with child_? What does that say about _you_ , Iris?”

Iris was about to reply when Cisco loudly cut her off, exclaiming, “This is delicious, really!” He’d been trying most of the food Iris put together and had a towering plate of it. “But isn’t it your boyfriend’s job to endlessly flatter you, not ours?” He barely hid his flinch when she took a step towards him and hastily asked, “Where is Barry, anyways?”

“He was painting in the nursery,” Caitlin said, absently, as she carefully arranged a stack of crackers and cheese on her own plate. “I was in there talking to him.”

“You were in there while Barry was _painting_?” HR was some mixture of shocked, horrified, and outraged. And then he immediately swung around to face Harry. “You _let_ her be in there? Seriously, Harrison. For shame.”

Harry held his hands up in protest. “I can’t control her. Believe me, I’ve tried.” He sent a sidelong glance at Caitlin. “She’s mean when I try.”

“Damn right,” Iris said, reaching over to high five Caitlin.

“Not that I like the idea of it any more than you do,” Harry was continuing, as he and HR turned twin looks of disapproval on Caitlin that had her blinking in some kind of feeling that was like déjà vu, but not quite.

“I was only in there for fifteen minutes, that was my deal with Barry.” She frowned as she glanced between them, unsure who needed to hear it more. “And I’m not doing it again. So you don’t have to overreact. Either of you.”

“I’m still going to have a word with Barry,” HR complained, under his breath.

Iris patted him on the arm. “You know, HR,” she teased, “sometimes I think you love Caitlin more than Harry does.”

HR glanced from Iris, over to Harry, then back at Caitlin. “Not possible,” he said, matter of factly.

Caitlin turned to Harry, curious what his reaction would be to his doppelganger’s assertion. He was watching Caitlin and she didn’t quite know how to describe the look on his face, except that it was a mixture of warmth and affection and…love. (There was always so much love there, and she didn’t know if she’d ever get used to it.)

“It’s not possible,” he said, confirming HR’s assertion.

Caitlin couldn’t find enough air to say anything in response to that, so she edged closer to him instead. He reached over to touch the sleeve of her sweater, letting his fingers linger on the fabric for a few moments. It was navy blue with a scene of a quiet, snow-covered forest in winter. The snowflakes were a little sparkly, but that was the extent of the decoration. It was from years ago – her father had given it to her, in fact, and it wasn’t garish or over-the-top, just a seasonal sweater from a time when she remembered most people had wanted nice ones instead of the overly tacky and gaudy ones that many favored to try and outdo each other nowadays.

“I’m glad you finally managed to get dressed,” Harry said, latent hint of teasing in his statement. “You wore this last Christmas, too.”

That information made her smile more widely than she thought was possible. “I did?”

“Yup, you could make it an annual thing…wearing the sweater your father gave you.”

“Maybe I will,” she said, inexplicable feeling of contentment washing over her upon hearing that he knew where she’d gotten it. In the beginning, it had disconcerted her when he knew things she didn’t remember telling him. But now? She only found overwhelming comfort in instances like this. “I miss my father more on this day than any other.”

“I know you do,” he replied, “and we’ve talked about it before, but you wouldn’t remember…” He was looking across the room, and Caitlin followed his gaze to see he was watching Jesse. When Wally said something they couldn’t hear, but which made the younger woman start laughing, Harry smiled, too. “Here or not,” he said, “your father would only ever want you to be happy. That’s it, Caitlin.” He turned back to her. “That’s _it_.”

She searched his eyes for a moment, understanding the depth of the truth she saw there. He knew because he felt the exact same thing for his own daughter. Instead of directly replying, she nodded toward Jesse, wondering if he needed some reassurance of his own. “Jesse’s happy,” she told him, even though it was plain for everyone to see, and had been for some time. “She was in my timeline, too.”

That didn’t seem to be what he was expecting her to say, as he took a moment before nodding, and she saw the gratitude in his eyes that she’d told him. “I know she is, and I couldn’t ask for more than that.” After a minute, he asked, “Are you?”

“Happy?” she asked, as he nodded, brushing his fingers along the back of her hand. She considered what it meant that he had to ask her that question. “You don’t know by now, after everything we’ve talked about recently?”

“Saying that you want to stay in this timeline, that you can’t imagine going back or…losing everything, doesn’t necessarily mean you’re _happy_. I only want to make sure that… I mean, you’d tell me if there was anything more that I could do to help you, right? To make things easier?” He sounded unsure of himself; gone was his usual air of superiority and overconfidence. The instance of vulnerability made her heart clench, and it wasn’t until that moment that she realized how odd it seemed to hear uncertainty from him. How _wrong_ it was that he’d genuinely wonder how she currently felt – he should have known. She should have been doing a better job of telling him.

She turned on the couch to face him directly, making sure to meet his eyes and not look away. “I am happy,” she said firmly, in promise, and recalled her conversation with Barry. That Harry was always the one doing things _for her_ and she hadn’t really been able to reciprocate in kind, aside from a few moments here and there. She was more determined than ever that she was going to do more for him, but right now, in this moment, all she could do was tell him the truth. “You have done more for me than anyone else ever could have, put into your…your _impossible_ position. I know this has been as difficult for you as it has been for me, and that fact kind of gets lost, most of the time. But I want you to know I haven’t forgotten what you’ve gone through. And I am more appreciative of you than you will probably ever know.”

Harry didn’t move for a few moments. She didn’t think he was even breathing. “Trust me,” he finally said, voice barely audible, “I know a thing or two about being appreciative.”

She knew he was thinking of a multitude of things in that moment, and that the vast majority of them had to do with her. (Mostly, that his worst nightmare of losing her hadn’t come true, despite everything that had happened in the past few months.) She reached up to wrap her hand around the arm he had resting on the couch behind them, like maybe he was some kind of anchor she had to hold onto, now and then. “I’m happy here,” she repeated. “I’m happy with you. I don’t want to be anywhere else. Or with anyone else except you and the rest of the people in our house right now. I’ve meant it every time I said I loved you and all of our friends.”

Something unreadable crossed his face and she tensed a little, wondering if she’d mistakenly said something wrong. But she replayed her words and nothing she’d said was untrue.

“You’ve never called it that before,” he said, answering the question she hadn’t asked. She was still lost, though, and he saw that, too. “Our house. _Ours_.”

She realized that he was right. She was so used to calling it his house, or referring to it in a neutral way. She’d referred to it as ‘home’ a few times, but rarely, even though she’d thought of it that way for a while. And it was something he’d taken notice of, which told her he was probably aware of a multitude of things about her that she did or didn’t do – which made sense, since he would obviously recognize the differences in how she spoke and acted with him now as opposed to before.

She wondered what else he saw that he wasn’t telling her.

“I know it was always ours, here,” she told him. “But now…I can feel it in a way I didn’t before.”

In response, he tugged on her arm to pull her into a hug and she went willingly, leaning into him. She shut her eyes, breathing him in, and let herself settle into a haze of quiet contentment.

“Oh my God, that was beautiful,” Cisco breathed, as they both twisted to find him standing behind the couch. It seemed that he’d been listening to their every word, and when he realized he’d mistakenly gotten their attention, he turned away and discreetly wiped at his eyes.

“Are you crying, Ramon?”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Cisco muttered, which might as well have been an admission.

“Sure you don’t want to rethink your earlier statement, Snow?” Harry asked. “That you only want to be with the people in our house, _right_ _now_? Because Cisco’s in our house.”

“He’s our friend,” she murmured, and when she felt him inhale to refute that, she repeated sternly, “Yes, _our_.”

“Thanks, Caitlin,” Cisco said, “but I can defend myself.” He turned to Harry. “Shut up.”

“You really put me in my place,” Harry said, in monotone.

They probably would have kept bickering, except that was when every light went out, both the regular ones and the Christmas lights strewn about the room. Caitlin immediately became tense, hating that her first thought when something unusual happened was that they were under attack. Harry tightened his arm around her, and she wondered if he had the same thoughts, or was merely reacting to her uncertainty.

“What’s going on?” Cisco asked into the darkness, warily. “Did you forget to pay the bill, Harry?”

“What is this, 1992?” Harry bit out, and Caitlin relaxed upon hearing his usual exasperation. “Everything’s automated nowadays, Ramon, including bill paying.”

Cisco sighed loudly, and Caitlin could easily picture his expression, even in the dark. “Clearly you did _something_ wrong, Harry.”

“Yeah, it’s somehow _me_ ,” Harry said, “and not the rest of you overloading the circuit breakers by decorating the house with every light you could find in Central City.”

“I’m not hearing much holiday spirit in here,” HR chastised. The next moment, only the Christmas lights came back on, bathing the room in a colorful glow of red, green, and multi-colored lights. There were so many, in fact, that the absence of the room’s regular lights was barely noticeable. The centerpiece of the room, the Christmas tree lit only by white strands, glowed warmly from the corner and instantly drew everyone’s attention. “You can’t truly appreciate it until the regular lights are off,” HR was explaining. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks for the heads up before plunging us into darkness,” Cisco complained, though he no longer sounded that annoyed as he took in the lights all around them.

Iris commented on how beautiful everything was, sounding slightly awed, and everyone else voiced their agreement (including Harry, who proceeded to take all the credit for it, even though he’d been blaming them not even a minute earlier). Caitlin basked in the sudden feeling of peace that had enveloped the room. She’d never moved away from Harry, who was absently running his fingers back and forth across her shoulder. When her eyes fell on the assortment of food in front of them, including the plate she’d made, she remembered that she’d only managed a few bites before getting (repeatedly) distracted. She considered getting it, but…she was too content to move.

Within a few minutes, she let her eyes drift shut, picking up bits and pieces of conversations around the room. Cisco announced he was going to check on the food since he was the “only responsible one around here,” (which earned genuine laughter from Harry). Joe was talking to Wally and Jesse about the woman he’d recently started dating, Cecile, who also happened to be Central City’s District Attorney. Iris and HR had been talking about traditional holiday recipes on their Earths (which mostly consisted of HR telling Iris how to improve upon hers), but they quickly got drawn into the conversation next to them, with Iris digging for as much information as possible on her father’s new love interest. Caitlin couldn’t help smiling at the barely contained excitement in Joe’s voice when he spoke of Cecile, and she somehow knew that everything there would work out.

When Cisco returned, the conversation turned to gifts, with people debating whether to open them before or after dinner. Caitlin looked over towards the tree, and that was when she realized something was off about it that she hadn’t noticed earlier – there were far too many presents under it. There had only been a few when she’d wandered through that morning, and even if everyone had brought a lot when she was asleep (which they’d specifically been instructed _not to do_ ), she had no idea how that could account for how many there were.

“Who brought all the presents?” she asked curiously. “I thought we agreed not to go overboard this year. Not when none of us really need anything.”

“Oh someone went overboard, for sure,” Joe said, nodding not too subtly at HR.

“Yeah, at least 80% of those gifts are from him,” Wally confirmed. “He said he’s getting a lot of book royalties and he wanted to show his appreciation to us.”

“Not only royalties, I sold the rights so they could make a movie,” HR said cheerfully. “Besides, most of what I brought is for the baby.”

Caitlin’s breath caught in her throat as she let her eyes linger on the dozens of presents under the tree. “You bought presents for our baby?”

“I did. In fact, Caitlin – on my current Earth, that is – helped me pick most of them out. The two of you share very similar tastes. Except in men, apparently.” He ignored Harry coughing to try and cover his laughter. “So I’m hopeful you’ll like most of them.” There was a hint of pride in his words, and Caitlin wasn’t sure if it was because of his thoughtfulness or the fact that he’d convinced Earth-57 Caitlin to help him shop for gifts.

When Caitlin didn’t reply, a kind of silence came over the room and it didn’t break until Harry nudged her a little to snap her out of her trance. She looked around, realizing everyone seemed slightly uncertain, and a glance at Harry’s face clued her in to his concern – everyone’s concern. Her lack of reaction had caused them to be unsure if she was happy about HR’s overwhelming, if thoughtful, display.

Before she could say anything, HR started talking again. “We haven’t really discussed it, but I’ve heard things are…better? For you? When it comes to…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but sounded hopeful. “If I went too far, just tell me. I can return everything or donate it, or…whatever you want.”

Thinking back on it, she realized that even though HR had visited a few times since Thanksgiving, she hadn’t really discussed her pregnancy with him. So even if he’d heard she was doing better from the others, he might not have known the extent of it, and he worried that he might have overstepped. And yet, even despite that worry, he’d gone and done this anyways.

She ignored the way her friends were still silently waiting for her reaction and only Harry seemed to know what she wanted to do, since he let go of her and she immediately slid down the couch in order to throw her arms around HR. He hugged her back without saying anything – perhaps a lifetime first for him – and she found herself thinking that she’d hugged more people in the past two months than in maybe the entire year prior to that. She wasn’t sure if it was the baby causing her to be more emotional or if she _herself_ was changing, but whatever it was…she didn’t mind it.

She pulled back to look up at him. “Thank you, HR.” Her voice was a lot more tearful than she thought it would be. “You’re right that things are better for me. Much better. I can’t imagine my life any other way.”

“Good,” he said succinctly. “We can’t imagine you any other way, either.”

She hesitated. “Even though I don’t remem–”

“ _Any_ other way,” he promised.

She paused at that, willing herself not to cry. He had a way of affecting her more than the others, and by now she knew that it was because he was another version of Harrison Wells. Different in innumerable ways, to be sure, but at his heart…he was Harrison Wells. And no, they weren’t all the same across every Earth, but he was similar enough to the man she shared her life with, similar enough in his own capacity for love, that sometimes… Well, sometimes he would look at her with an expression that was so strikingly _Harry’s_ that it’d cause her to stop in her tracks. (Or he’d say…things like he’d just said.)

He must have seen how overwhelmed she was since he nudged her to move back toward the other end of the couch – then he _kept_ pushing her until she literally had nowhere else to go except to fall backwards against Harry. HR smiled with satisfaction and from the look on Harry’s face, she knew he was about to scold his doppelganger – but when she started laughing at HR’s ridiculousness, and couldn’t seem to stop, Harry’s irritation vanished like it had never existed at all.

“You see,” HR had turned to address the entire room, “ _Attack of the Dominators_ made me a lot of money. I mean, a _lot_ of money. I figured since I owe your world a small fraction of my success –”

“Small fraction?” Jesse interjected. “Try like 95%.”

HR seemed unimpressed by that statistic. “Do we really need to get into semantics?”

“Actually, I think we do,” Jesse said, probably just to be difficult (like father, like daughter). “In fact –”

“The point is,” HR talked over her, “that I wanted to give back some of what I have received. Therefore, I’ve gotten a variety of gifts for all of you.” He turned back to Caitlin, clearly excited. “Even those not yet among us.”

“Because we were your inspiration,” Jesse insisted.

“Fine, yes,” HR relented. “If you want to use that word.”

“Speaking of your novel…” Caitlin casually sat upright and moved a little ways down the couch, until she was almost out of Harry’s reach. Of course, that was enough for him to recognize her intentions.

“Don’t do it,” he warned. “Don’t you _dare_.”

“HR,” she said loudly, to ensure everyone in the room could hear her, “did you know that Harry –”

“Snow.”

“– is one of –”

“You’ll regret this.”

“– your biggest fans?” she finished, with great delight. In her peripheral vision, she saw Harry sit up straighter and had a good idea what was coming next. “He can’t get enough of your novel and –”

She yelped when Harry lunged for her, but she’d been prepared and lurched to the side, jumping off the couch and circling around to stand behind Cisco, who was shaking his head at their behavior.

“I had no idea you were such a fan!” HR exclaimed, immediately sliding down the couch to take Caitlin’s newly-vacated seat, getting uncomfortably close to Harry in the process. “What are your favorite parts?”

“You went and did it.” Harry had pressed both hands to his temples before snapping his eyes back to Caitlin’s, where she was partially hidden behind Cisco. “You will pay for this.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” she taunted, and when Harry’s expression didn’t waver, she ducked her head back to Cisco’s shoulder, mostly to hide her laughter.

“I have an announcement to make, everyone,” Harry said, voice commanding the room’s attention. “Caitlin has lost it. It’s been happening for some time, but clearly you see the evidence before you tonight.”

“I’m _crazy_?” Caitlin said, in a tone indicating she expected more of him when it came to retaliation. “That’s what you’re going with?”

Cisco was studying her thoughtfully. “I don’t know, he makes a compelling argument. You _did_ marry him.”

Harry sighed loudly. “Using the same joke over and over does not make it any funnier, Ramon.”

“I find it amusing every time,” Wally tossed out, and when Harry turned to him, he quickly pulled Jesse onto his lap. “Save me.”

“Look,” Harry said, futilely trying to make his case, “what else – except Caitlin being insane – could explain her telling such a blatant, and awful, fabrication?”

“Forget it, dad,” Jesse said. “I saw you reading _Attack of the Dominators_ in your office the other day. Remember? It was when you threatened to ship me back to Earth-2 if I ‘so much as breathed a word of what I’d witnessed to anyone’.”

Harry pointed at her. “You’re disinherited.”

“It’s okay, babe,” Wally told her. “I’ll take care of you.” Off Harry’s look, he added, “Uh, if it’s okay with your father?”

“Way to stand strong, man,” Cisco said, voice heavy with sarcasm.

“As an independent adult, I can certainly take care of myself,” Jesse told her boyfriend, sharply. “However, as your girlfriend…” her face broke into a wide smile, “…that’s so sweet.” She leaned in to kiss him and it was soon clear to the room that they’d momentarily lost the attention of them both.

Harry ran his hands over his face in clear agitation. “Maybe the person Jesse saw was one of my doppelgangers,” he tried to claim. “There are a lot of versions of me. And you people somehow know _all_ of them.”

“Just admit you’re addicted to HR’s novel,” Iris goaded. “The first step is acknowledging you have a problem, Harry.”

He made an attempt to stare Iris down, though by now it was about as successful as whenever he tried that tactic with Caitlin. “Believe me, West, I have a lot of problems.”

“Tell us something we don’t know,” Cisco said, under his breath.

Harry ignored that, choosing instead to make a show of pointing at everyone in the room as he loudly counted, finishing when he reached Caitlin, who was still more or less hovering behind Cisco. “I have _seven_ problems, to be exact,” he announced.

“Hey guys, did I miss anything?” Barry asked, as he entered the living room and joined Iris, leaning down to kiss her.

“Just Harry being Harry,” Iris said, grinning up at him.

“So…nothing,” Barry said flatly.

“Eight problems,” Harry amended. “I have _eight_ problems.”

“I resent being included with these troublemakers,” Joe said, as he leaned forward to nudge Iris in the shoulder.

“You deserve it as much as the rest,” Harry insisted, “since you always take your children's sides whenever I fight with them.” He crossed his arms and stared at the other man over the top of his glasses, expression unreadable. “It’s not right, Joe.”

“Good thing I don’t have to worry about my own parent taking my side,” Jesse lamented, “since you always oppose me…mostly just to oppose me.”

Harry clearly wasn’t bothered by her complaints. “Try joining my side – the right one – and you wouldn’t have to argue with me.”

Caitlin and Jesse shared a commiserating look, and Caitlin was glad that someone else knew what she had to deal with. ( _All the time_.)

“We’re losing the point,” Joe said (like that was something new) and turned back to HR. “I actually finished your book shortly after Thanksgiving. I couldn’t put it down. Tell me you’re considering a sequel or two. Hell, I’ll take an entire series!”

“Thank you, Joe,” HR said, immodestly. “As for a sequel, I have more than a few ideas.” The last was said with a suggestive wink at Caitlin that left her grinning and Harry sighing.

Harry held up a hand in indication for HR to stop. “We don’t want to hear your ideas.”

“Oh no, we definitely want to hear these sequel ideas,” Cisco chimed in, and Caitlin was aware it was probably just to tease her and annoy Harry. “You might say…the more detail the better.”

Cisco twisted away when Caitlin pinched his side in retaliation, then she motioned for HR to get up and let her retake her seat next to Harry. He did so with an overly-gallant bow that had Harry rolling his eyes toward the ceiling – he’d settled back into his earlier position in the corner of the couch with an arm sprawled along the back of it, and aside from his exasperation with HR, he showed no reaction to Caitlin’s return. She turned her focus back on the food that she hadn’t gotten to eat much of earlier.

“Brave of you to come back over here,” Harry whispered in her ear, causing her to still – she’d been so intent on the food that she hadn’t realized he’d gotten that close.

“It’s because I’m hungry,” she said primly, refusing to look at him. To prove her point, she set some cheese on a cracker and took a careful bite.

“So you say,” Harry said, tone revealing that he knew better.

She turned her head to meet his eyes and the carefully-hidden amusement that she found there broke through her facade. “Okay. Maybe it’s not _just_ for the food.”

“You’re terrible at interrogation, Snow,” he said smugly. “You crack just like –” he snapped his fingers, “– that.” She could tell he was trying to keep a straight face, but he ultimately failed, breaking out into a smile as he glanced away from her.

Wally had taken it upon himself to start pestering HR. “Come on, ignore Harry’s protests,” he prodded. “What are these supposed ideas for your next novel?”

When everyone turned to HR expectantly, he cleared his throat a few times, fiddled with his drink, then finally said, “I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

Harry wasn’t fooled for a moment. “You don’t have anything, do you?”

“Writer’s block is an actual, serious issue that can affect even the most talented of –”

“I knew it!” Harry cut him off. “Your first book was basically a play-by-play retelling of an actual event. You left our Earth soon after it happened, so you have nothing left to tell in this world.”

“This is where everyone can contribute,” HR said, cheerfully brightening again. “Each of you can tell me some of the most exciting events that happened since I left this Earth. You know, in between the few dozen times I’ve returned to visit, that is.”

Wally was tapping his fingers on Jesse’s leg, apparently thinking over HR’s request. “Would we get a co-writing credit?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” HR laughed. “Then I’d have to share royalties.” He sobered to add, “But you’ll get credit in my heart.”

Barry seemed to be considering it, too. “You guys have to admit that a lot of crazy things have happened to us this past year.” Iris was nodding in agreement and Barry pulled her back against him, resting his chin on her head. “They’d definitely make for some compelling stories…”

“Why are you helping him?” Harry demanded.

“Is annoying you not a good enough reason?” Barry smirked.

“You’ve got my email,” HR told the younger man, expectantly. “I appreciate it.”

“I think maybe it’s time you considered exploring another Earth for material,” Harry suggested, zero inflection in his tone.

“Please. You people need me.” HR faltered as he looked around the room. “…Right?”

“Obviously we do,” Caitlin assured him, as Harry huffed lightly next to her. She reached over to set a hand on his knee, knowing he’d relax at the gesture, and he responded by placing his own hand over hers.

“Maybe I’ll write a sequel about the next chapter in my main characters’ lives,” HR said, directing that at Harry and Caitlin. “Settling into a life of domesticity…actually that sounds pretty boring, who’d want to read about that?”

“Yeah,” Cisco said, amused, “their life is certainly boring. About to get less so, right?” He took a seat on the arm of the couch next to Harry. “Are you excited about becoming a father?”

Harry waited a beat too long. “I _am_ a father.”

“Oh right,” Cisco feigned mild shock as he grinned at Jesse on the nearby couch. “Sorry, Jess. You’re so normal that I often forget Harry had anything to do with how you turned out.”

As she laughed, Harry just stared at Cisco. “How long have you been waiting to use that one?”

“A long time,” Cisco admitted. “Since before Caitlin got pregnant, actually.”

In return, Harry shot a hand out to push Cisco off the arm of the couch as the younger man merely snickered and then went to find another seat.

“Truthfully, though,” Harry said, “my only hope is to try and be a good father to my next child, too.”

“Harry, you don’t have to _try_ to be a good father,” Caitlin told him, quietly. And in truth, all she could think of was the lengths he’d gone to in order to save Jesse when she’d been in danger. He’d literally _crossed dimensions_ for his daughter. “You’re already a wonderful father. One of the best I’ve ever known, in fact.”

The look he sent her in response caused her to inwardly shiver, and she sighed lightly when he pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Maybe Harrison had a point before,” HR admitted. “I should probably focus my next novel on another Earth.”

“You’ve told us you were considering writing about your time on Earth-57,” Jesse reminded him. “Speaking of which, how’s it going there? You mentioned Caitlin earlier…”

HR hesitated a moment. “Uh…things are progressing.”

“Progressing _well_?” Joe asked, pointedly.

“Not quite,” HR admitted, sighing loudly. “Actually, that’s a subject I’ve been wanting to mention. My team there has recently learned about the existence of multiple dimensions,” he turned a frown toward Cisco, “thanks to _your_ semi-girlfriend Gypsy who came hopping along to fill me in on some news about Earth-19. I forgot to delete the security footage and Dr. Stein saw it the next day –”

“Wait,” Wally cut him off, “you’re friendly with Gypsy? In what universe?”

“Ah, Gypsy,” Cisco said fondly, with a smitten, far-off smile, before blinking and returning his focus to Wally. “It’s true, she told me she’s kept in touch with HR.”

“She happens to like me,” HR asserted, as he glanced at Harry. “She says I remind her of you –”

“Oh, then it makes sense,” Harry interrupted.

“– except I’m actually fun,” HR finished, as Harry’s smug expression slipped into a scowl.

“I thought you’d take not being fun as a compliment,” Jesse teased her father, as he sent her an inscrutable look.

“For the record,” Caitlin whispered to him, “I happen to think you’re a lot of fun. When you want to be.” She’d finished her plate of food and decided to show some restraint by holding off for dinner next. She turned sideways, having just enough room to stretch her legs out without invading HR’s space, and leaned back against Harry again. When he kissed the top of her head, in apparent thanks at her compliment, she tipped her head back to smile up at him.

“I tried to explain Gypsy’s sudden arrival through a breach as a glitch in the tapes,” HR was telling them, “but in the end, I had to explain her real origins to everyone at S.T.A.R. Labs – you’d think she’d be more careful!”

“Or you could have, you know…” Cisco trailed off waiting for HR to pick up on it, but when the other man didn’t, he threw his hands up in dismay. “Remembered to delete the footage!”

“No, it was all her fault,” HR said, easily brushing away the blame. “In any event, now they all know about multiple Earths and that I’m from one of them. Most of them accepted it in stride, thankfully, but Caitlin keeps asking me questions and…” His eyes moved from Harry to Cisco, and back again. “I’ve been considering bringing her here for a visit. So she can see it, and understand it, for herself.”

Cisco instantly picked up on the disingenuousness of HR’s claim. “Really,” he said flatly. “You want her to _understand_ multiple dimensions.”

“Okay,” HR reluctantly admitted, “maybe not quite. It’s more that I want her to see that there are people here who actually care about me. That I’m perfectly capable of acquiring friends, despite what she believes.”

“Really?” Harry challenged. “Or is it that you want her to see a world where Caitlin and I are married?”

“Ummm…” HR hedged, before trailing off. “I don’t think this is the time for twenty questions! My point is that I think it would help her to see this world, since she won’t stop asking about it.” He turned to Caitlin. “She has your tenacity, unfortunately.”

“Sorry…?” Caitlin offered, as she felt Harry stifle his laughter.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into my Earth’s Caitlin,” HR suggested, as he cheered up at the very thought. “Explain to her why she should give me a shot –”

“And why is that?” Harry asked, bluntly.

“Because!” HR exclaimed. “I’m me!”

“You’re not swaying us,” Harry informed him, as Caitlin ineffectually tried to elbow him – she really wasn’t in a good enough position to get any leverage and he was easily able to counter her every attempt.

“We’ll tell her, HR,” Caitlin finally promised, once she gave up on a fight with Harry she wasn’t going to win. “If it ever comes to that.”

“I appreciate it,” he said, reaching over to squeeze her ankle in thanks.

“Hey, what was the news about Earth-19?” Iris asked. “You never said.”

“There’s a vote coming up where they might repeal the punishment of execution for those who violate the inter-dimensional travel laws. If it passes, everyone who did so – who’s still alive, mind you – would be granted clemency.”

“You’d be able to go home,” Cisco said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

“I wouldn’t mind going back to visit some old friends,” HR said, as he looked around the room, “but that’s not my home anymore.” As Caitlin smiled at him, she distinctly remembered that Harry had said something incredibly similar shortly after the timeline had changed.

“You’ll always have a home here with us, HR,” Iris told him warmly, as everyone spoke in agreement with her sentiment – even Harry, though his voice was low enough that Caitlin thought she might have been the only one to hear it.

“On that note,” Barry began, moving to the middle of the room, “I wanted to say how happy I am that we all get to celebrate another year of everyone being here, together and happy. You don’t know how much I…” He cleared his throat. “This is the only thing I ever want.” He then turned to Iris, saying, “I had a whole speech prepared and wouldn’t you know that I can’t remember a word of it, right now?”

Caitlin felt Harry sit up more fully behind her and that was when she realized what was happening. And apparently so did Iris, since there was nothing but pure elation on her face. A quick look around told Caitlin that almost everyone was equally as surprised as her.

“So I’ll have to tell you later all the things I wanted to say,” Barry was continuing, as he got down on one knee in front of where Iris was sitting in an armchair, “but the only thing you need to know is that I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I can’t imagine life without you – good times and difficult times and everything in between, I want us by each other’s sides through all of it, Iris. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so if you want to spend the rest of yours with –” He didn’t get to finish the sentence since Iris had thrown herself forward, arms around Barry’s neck as she hugged him, pressing her face into the side of his neck while repeating “yes” over and over.

“You don’t even know what I was going to ask,” Barry gently scolded, voice filled with humor, as Iris leaned back to give him a shaky smile. The tears in her eyes made Caitlin tear up, too.

“I hope you were going to ask her to marry you, man,” Cisco chimed in. “Or else this moment is going to go downhill real fast.”

A few people started laughing and Barry sent his friend a mock glare. “Thanks for the advice, Cisco.” He turned back to Iris as he pulled a velvet box out of his pocket and held it out to her. “Iris Ann West, will you marry me?”

She ignored the box, leaning forward to place her hands on either side of his face. They looked at each other for a long moment before Iris said, “Of course I will. I would never marry anyone else in this world. Or in any other.” She pulled him in for a kiss and the haze of anticipatory excitement lifted, the room erupting into clapping and cheering.

When they pulled away from each other, both of them laughing, Barry held up the box. “So do you not want this, or…?”

She swatted his arm, then held out her left hand, and Caitlin could see it was shaking. Barry slid the ring onto her finger and they hugged each other again before Barry stood up, pulling Iris to her feet, as well. She seemed to be relying on him to stay standing, and was in a state of mild, joyous shock. By that point, Caitlin didn’t bother to try and stop herself from crying; she was so happy for her friends…she didn't think words could even describe it.

HR made his way over to Barry and Iris before anyone else could and announced, “Like we say on Earth-19, you can’t have a holiday engagement without tinsel!” To prove it, he threw two handfuls directly at the newly engaged couple. They both blinked in shock before Iris started laughing again and Barry pulled some tinsel off their clothes before throwing the strands in the air himself.

Harry watched the entire, glittering display while muttering, in dismay, “My living room…” Louder, he told HR, “Remind me to never visit your Earth. Not that I need more reasons not to go there, I mean it’s where _you’re_ from…”

“That’s how they celebrate,” Caitlin told him, wiping at her eyes. “Apparently.” She was overwhelmingly grateful for his usual dry sense of humor since it helped distract her from all the emotions swirling within her, giving her a respite to try and get herself back under control.

“Yeah, well, they celebrate _wrong_ ,” Harry grumbled, though all traces of irritation disappeared when he looked at her. “Caitlin,” he murmured, reaching over to brush aside some of her tears.

“I can’t help it,” she shrugged, “that was so…perfect.” She gestured to where Jesse was hugging and congratulating Barry, while Wally whispered something to his sister that made Iris look like she was going to start crying. “Look at how happy they are.” She stood up, pulling on his hand to encourage him to do the same. “Let’s go over there. Did you know Barry was going to propose?”

Harry shook his head. “No idea. Like I’ve said, no one tells us when they do things at our house. I think they forget we live here half the time.” She could tell he was trying to sound disapproving, but he simply wasn’t able to pull it off. Not from the way he was smiling at Barry and Iris as Joe hugged them both.

When Caitlin and Harry finally got their turn to congratulate their friends, she felt herself becoming overwhelmed with emotion again. She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes to try and stop herself from crying, but it didn’t work. Harry must have sensed her (joyful) distress, since he put his arm around her waist, pulling her into a hug she couldn’t have fought even if she’d wanted to. She sniffed and pressed her face into his shirt, letting his steadiness calm her in a way she was starting to get used to.

“You should get to bed early tonight,” Harry said, and when she glanced up at him, puzzled, he gestured to the tinsel strewn about their living room. “Look at all the cleaning you’ll have to do tomorrow.”

She abruptly laughed, knowing he’d said it on purpose to distract her from crying. “If it were up to me, I’d leave it everywhere for another month or two. It brightens up the room.”

“Don’t get any ideas,” he warned, as they returned to the couch where they’d spent most of the evening.

Caitlin pressed a hand to her sweater, feeling the necklace underneath with her wedding ring, warm against her skin. She had no idea what possessed her, but she took one of the silver strands of tinsel from the floor and wrapped it in a circle around her left ring finger, then held it up to catch the light. “What was our engagement like?”

Harry was silent for a moment too long before he reminded her, “We didn’t have one like this, remember I told you? We just talked about marriage and then decided to do it.”

“I never had an engagement ring,” she said, and it wasn’t a question.

“No.” He hesitated, seeming to pick up on her slightly dejected mood. “You didn’t want one.”

“I didn’t,” she repeated, again as a statement and not a question. She studied the tinsel on her finger for another long moment before flexing her fingers and letting it fall away, to the floor. “I didn’t need one.”

“You didn’t before,” he said, carefully, “but would you now?”

“I don’t know,” she said, because she wasn’t sure. But as she watched Barry and Iris talk animatedly with their friends, sharing quick kisses and whatever other moments of affection they could steal, she knew there was some sense of loss in her that she and Harry never had a time like this. With everyone. (And how crazy was that, since even if they had, she wouldn’t have remembered it in the first place?)

“I can’t believe you wanted to get engaged with all of us here,” Joe was saying to Barry. The grin hadn’t left his face since Barry had put the ring on Iris’s finger.

“Where else would I do it?” Barry asked, and Caitlin heard the genuine question there. “It was only right to do it here with our entire family.” He kissed Iris’s temple as she hugged him again. “Nowhere else would have meant as much.”

“It’s everything I wanted, Barry,” Iris agreed. “Surrounded by everyone we love…” She trailed off and Caitlin watched as the other woman had to take a moment to rein in her emotions. “It’s perfect, Barry. The perfect Christmas. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

As Caitlin mulled over the fact that it felt like Iris had pulled her thoughts on this Christmas directly from her head, she caught Harry shaking his head out of the corner of her eye.

“You two know I’m incredibly happy for you both,” he began, “but let’s not go throwing around words like ‘perfect’.” He pointed at the floor, covered in obscene amounts of tinsel. “Not after what you people have done to my living room.”

“To be fair, that was HR, not us,” Barry said, before being distracted by Iris pulling him in for another kiss.

“Harry’s idea of perfect would be if someone started vacuuming right now,” Cisco said, as Wally and Jesse started playfully threatening to go throw tinsel all over the rest of the house.

Before Harry could start promising retaliation if they so much as dared, HR appeared next to the couch. “I think someone over in this vicinity needs some more holiday cheer…Harrison.” He capped that off by throwing tinsel on Harry, half of which got on Caitlin due to her close proximity. He then happily wandered off, apparently oblivious to how close he was to being imprisoned in the particle accelerator at S.T.A.R. Labs.

Harry had shut his eyes and was saying, “He didn’t do that, right? When I open my eyes, I’ll find that he didn’t do that.” He opened his eyes, surveying his clothes and Caitlin’s, both of them now covered with dozens of strands of silver and gold tinsel. “So…he did that.”

“It looks good on you,” Caitlin said, and she had no idea how she kept a straight face, but she did. “You know how everyone’s always saying that you should brighten up your wardrobe with more…sparkly things.”

He stared at her for a moment, and she could see he was _really_ trying to remain as serious as she was pretending to be, but he finally gave up. And when he smiled at her, all his aggravation from a moment earlier had vanished. He reached over to pull some tinsel from her hair, letting his fingers brush against the side of her face as he did so. “God…how much I love you.”

She could see that he wanted to kiss her, just as she could also see that he wouldn’t do it – and that was another conversation they needed to have (namely that she’d be fine with him kissing her whenever he wanted). And more than that, she wanted to kiss him, too. So she leaned up to press her mouth to his and it was more than when they’d kissed at S.T.A.R. Labs the previous week. More than she’d meant it to be; more than she’d thought it’d be, even. She savored his quick inhalation of surprise before registering her intent; savored the moment he began kissing her back; savored the way he deepened it when she sent him only the most minor of cues.

Mostly, she savored _him_ , for being who he was, and for being the most important factor in how happy she was, right then.

She knew the others had probably noticed, since the kiss went on much longer than she’d planned, but she didn’t have it in her to care. It seemed neither she nor Harry wanted to let go of each other, and she marveled at the emotions that had come to life inside her. She could feel the multitude of things he was trying to convey: affection and gratitude, comfort and reassurance, and above all else, love. Everything he did for her, with her, _to_ her – it was always about love.

She reveled in the way he made her feel, and not just from the kiss, either, but the sense of home and family she always had when she was with him. And while that wasn’t exactly new, it was different now than it had been before tonight.

When he finally broke away from her, she would have protested, but she couldn’t form a coherent thought. He didn’t go far, though, whispering, “Merry Christmas, Caitlin Snow,” into the skin of her neck. Then he kissed her in that same spot and added, “Wells.”

When it hit her that he’d said her actual, full name (in this timeline), she leaned back to meet his eyes. He was smiling, but there was a hint of uncertainty there, and she knew that he wasn’t completely sure how she’d react to hearing that.

She grinned at him, maybe as widely as she ever had, and whispered back, “Merry Christmas, Harrison.” She couldn’t help herself, either, and leaned in to seal the sentiment with another lingering kiss.

Looking back on that moment down the road, she thought that it might have been when she actually began falling in love.

(Or maybe it was simply the moment when she finally decided to admit it.)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the encouragement, it means a lot!

Shortly after Christmas and New Year’s, during the second week of January, Caitlin found herself staring at the wall of the cortex while deep in thought. She’d been contemplating (for weeks) what kind of gift she might give to Harry in thanks for all that he’d done for her, and she was still drawing a blank. It was easy to mull over options, but much more difficult to decide upon any of them. She wanted to do something meaningful for him and no ideas that she’d come up with seemed to quite fit.

She dropped her head into her hands, sighing and deciding to once again set the subject aside. She and Harry were in a great place, probably the best they’d ever been in (since the timeline changed), and that was another thing she was afraid to dwell on too much – almost like if she started seriously contemplating their relationship, that might be when it disappeared from her life.

She blamed Barry for that, too – not for giving her the idea, but for _saying it out loud_ on Christmas and not allowing her to continue ignoring her (most likely) irrational fears. After that day, she’d kept meaning to talk about things with Harry, to attempt to more clearly define their relationship (if it even _could_ be defined, at the moment). Except every time the opportunity arose in the week afterwards, she stopped herself at the last second. In the end, she’d decided to give herself some time to figure out her feelings first. Presumably, once she did, it’d be easy to talk to him. At least…that was the theory she was going by, even if a lot of it was based on hope.

“I have to go to Earth-2,” Harry announced (a bit dramatically, in her opinion) as he came into the cortex, unknowingly interrupting her thoughts on him. It was readily apparent that he was annoyed about something, even though he didn’t say anything of the sort. “Do you two think you can hold down the fort for a couple hours?” He directed that at Caitlin, since Cisco was asleep on the couch, or at least appeared to be.

For some reason, a vague sense of unease had stirred in her. “Why do you have to go to Earth-2?”

“The prototype I’m trying to refine that helps meta-humans control their powers isn’t coming along like I hoped. I need more rare metals and this is the _third_ time the shipment’s been delayed. It might take another week to get it.” That explained his annoyance. “However, I have plenty of supplies at Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs, and I’m sick of waiting, so…” He was checking a few things on the monitors.

“You have a lot of money,” she said, as if he’d forgotten. “Can’t you express ship them from somewhere else?”

“It’d still take at least a day to get here. Besides, this also gives me an excuse to check in on Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs. I like to occasionally visit, make sure things are going okay. That they haven’t fallen apart without me.” He shot her a smirk. “It’s always a near thing, you know.”

Caitlin tried to quell her odd feelings about him leaving their Earth and struggled to think of anything that might get him to stay. But he was already shutting off the monitors and about to leave.

“You can’t go,” she said quickly, which wasn’t exactly a reason, but more a demand. And she couldn’t think of a single reasonable explanation for why she wanted him to stay. Only an incredibly irrational one that made no sense whatsoever. She didn’t even want to say it out loud because he’d easily point out that it made no sense and then she’d feel like an idiot.

“Why can’t I go?” His brow furrowed in puzzlement. “I won’t be long. Just throw something at Cisco if you need help with anything. I recommend a pen or marker, they won’t do as much damage as all our awards.” The last was said with a flourish toward some recently installed shelves where they put all the awards S.T.A.R. Labs got from the community. (Central City _really_ liked giving them statues and plaques for every minor thing they did.)

Caitlin ignored his question and fidgeted uneasily in her chair. “I don’t want you to go. Please don’t.”

He knew enough to drop the humor, gaze turning more scrutinizing. “What am I missing, here?”

She didn’t answer him, wishing he’d accept her request without needing an explanation.

There was a problem with that, though: he was Harrison Wells. And now that he knew something was bothering her, he would never let it go.

Proving her thoughts, he kicked one of the rolling chairs over and sat next to her. “Talk.”

“What if…” She snuck a glance at Cisco. She didn’t want him to overhear her fear; he seemed to be asleep, but she kept her voice down anyways. “What if you can’t get back?”

Harry leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. “What do you mean?”

“What if something happens? We’ve closed off our own world before. What if someone’s figured out a way to do something similar on Earth-2? Like…shutting down any tech that lets us travel between dimensions?” She very carefully didn’t look at him, afraid he might be amused at her questions, which while unlikely, were quite serious concerns in her mind. “And then what if Cisco couldn’t get to you, either, for some reason?” Even saying it made her cringe, since the odds of _all_ that happening at once were beyond minuscule. And yet…

He didn’t say anything for a moment. “You’re worried I’d get trapped there?”

Hearing him say the words caused her anxiety to ratchet up about ten notches. His tone had revealed he wasn’t laughing, so she risked looking up at him. “Yes.”

And once she’d had the thought, she couldn’t shake it. She couldn’t have him… _not be here_.

“You’ve never been worried about traveling between Earths,” he pointed out, and she recognized the way he was trying to find the actual problem. “Not here, at least. Did something happen in your timeline?”

“No,” she said, shrugging a little. She had no idea where the fear had come from since it wasn’t something that ever occurred to her before. “I don’t know why I feel this way, but I do.”

“If something like that ever happened, I’d find a way back eventually.” He wasn’t bragging, he was simply stating it like the fact it was. “Have you forgotten who I am?”

“No one ever could,” she tried to quip. “You wouldn’t let them.”

He was watching her in that way she loved. “I’d have a pretty good motivation to return by whatever means possible.”

She was sure she was going to start blushing any moment. “Harry –”

“S.T.A.R. Labs!” he interrupted, holding his arms out. “You people would send it right back into bankruptcy without me.”

“Funny,” she said, shaking her head. But she was smiling because… (Well, just because. Seemed with him she never needed a reason.)

“Okay,” he sighed, like he was begrudgingly conceding a point. “You’re on the list of reasons, too.”

“Above or below the lab?”

He pretended to think on that. “You might be tied with it. Throw Jesse in there somewhere, too.”

“As heartwarming as this conversation is, I’m only delaying you.” She leaned further back in the chair with a sigh. “I’m sorry I even brought it up. It’s ridiculous, I know.” Despite her claims, her words were beyond reluctant.

“It’s not ridiculous,” he said, reaching over to brush his fingers over her wrist, then down the back of her hand, and she instantly felt calmer. “You’ll just have to come with me.”

“I will?”

“That way if the worst happened, at least we’d be stuck there together, right? Until I could find a way back here – which again, I know I would, even if it took me a while.”

Going with him was an easy solution – she had no idea why she hadn’t thought of it, and her suffocating worry vanished in an instant. Harry had mentioned to her before that she’d never visited Earth-2 with him in this timeline, but she had no idea why. She’d added it to the list of things she wished she could go back and ask her previous self.

“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll go with you.”

“Besides,” he was teasing, “it’ll give me a chance to finally show you off to all my former employees – the trophy wife who stole me away from S.T.A.R. Labs.”

“For a different S.T.A.R. Labs,” she said dryly. “What a grand adventure you’ve gone on, huh?”

“The grandest,” he agreed, pulling her up with him as he stood. “But not because of S.T.A.R. Labs.”

She felt warm all over, the way she always did when he said things like that, and he lingered for a minute in holding her hand after helping her up.

“I’m flattered, by the way, that if it came down to it, you’d rather be trapped on the other side with me than here with these people.” His gaze fell on Cisco, still sleeping. “Smart choice, Snow.”

When he put it that way, she realized she _had_ essentially made a choice. And even with it pointed out to her, she wouldn’t change it. He’d become necessary to her life, to her well-being, in a way that still surprised her at times. If she had to be on a side, she needed to be on the one with _him_ instead of the one where she was left waiting and wondering and killing herself with worry.

“Cisco!” he yelled, as their co-worker jumped nearly a foot off the couch and then turned a glare on Harry so fierce that Caitlin could practically feel the heat of it.

“Can’t you see I’m on my lunch break?” Cisco growled, turning over on the couch so he wouldn’t have to look at them.

Harry wasn’t buying it. “Ah, yes, your daily noon to 3 o’clock nap that you call a ‘lunch break’.”

“You’re the one who bought the couch.”

“I was forced,” Harry said, briefly sliding his gaze over to Caitlin. “In any event, Ramon, loath though I am to put you in charge, there’s no one else here. Although it’s debatable to me if pulling someone in off the street would be a better option at this point.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Cisco mumbled into a pillow that Caitlin figured he must have brought from home. “Wait, where are you two going?”

“Earth-2.”

That got Cisco’s actual attention and he sat up a little to find Caitlin’s eyes. “You’re going to Earth-2? How come? You’ve never gone with Harry when he visited before.”

“She wants to see the sights,” Harry filled in, easily, and she was immensely grateful he hadn’t said anything about the fear she’d only discovered she had ten minutes ago. “And my former colleagues should be so lucky to meet her. I mean, they’re all brilliant, too – I only hire the best – but she surpasses them, for sure.”

“Oh God,” Cisco muttered, motioning for them to go and losing any interest he might have had in grilling Caitlin. “Get out of here, I don’t need to hear it.”

Harry grinned and Caitlin knew then that his intention had been to stop Cisco’s line of inquiry. And it had worked beautifully.

“Keep alert, Ramon,” Harry ordered as they went to leave, and Cisco only gave an unintelligible response. That caused Harry to take a last-second turn, veering toward the nearest computer to set every alarm and lock that S.T.A.R. Labs had.

“Worried?” Caitlin whispered, from slightly behind him.

Harry lifted one shoulder a little, then turned to face her. “I don’t want a crew of robbers to get in here under Cisco’s watch because he fell asleep. With my luck, I’d come back and find the entire building cleared out. Do you know how valuable these things are?”

Caitlin’s eyes landed on Cisco, seemingly back to sleep already. _Yeah, she had some idea._ “You don’t want anything to happen to him,” she murmured. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He smiled slightly, and she could tell it was against his will. (She wondered if he was thinking of how her words echoed what he’d told her after her nightmare, so many weeks ago now – and it was still the only one she’d had here so far, which was closing in on some kind of record.)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Snow,” he insisted, avoiding her direct gaze.

“Suuure you don’t,” she said, linking her arm with his as they finally left the cortex and made their way to the portal.

“Fine. Maybe I care a _little_.” When she tightened her arm around his and her eyes lit up with triumph, he quickly added, “Only a little. Don’t push it.”

“Aw, you two love each other. Your secret’s safe with me, Harry, but you should know that Cisco essentially told me as much when the timeline first changed.”

“Did he?” Harry seemed a bit surprised. “Well, I have to keep up appearances, you know.”

“For who?” she laughed, letting go of him and turning in a circle as they walked, indicating that they were well and truly alone.

“For…uh…the public.”

“I wasn’t aware the public was watching us right now,” she admonished, lightly. She dropped the joking tone when she added, “Um…thank you for not telling Cisco about why I’m going.” It wasn’t that she was afraid Cisco would think less of her or find it amusing, but that she was embarrassed to admit her concerns, absurd as they were.

“There are some things no one else needs to know,” he said, simply.

They made it to the breach room and Harry put in some coordinates. A few seconds later, the portal appeared and Caitlin stared into the beautiful, swirling blue light. It took her breath away for a moment – it always did.

“Ready?” he asked.

She walked forward with him, then abruptly grabbed his hand, causing him to stop. _What if…_ “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“We’ve all done this before,” he reminded her.

“Yes, but not while…” She glanced down, gesturing at her abdomen, and then back up at him.

When he understood, his gaze softened as he looked down at her. “Yes, it’s perfectly fine.”

“You’re sure.” The question came out flat – she didn’t tend to second guess him on things like this, he understood the physics behind inter-dimensional travel much more thoroughly than she ever would, but if there was _any_ chance something could go wrong…she’d never forgive herself.

“I’m sure because I built this,” he said, waving behind him. “You trust me.” It wasn’t a question, but she still nodded. “I would never do anything to put you, or our child, in danger.”

Her mind stuck on that phrase. _Our child_. She liked hearing it.

He was still looking down at her.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Are you thinking that I should have known better? That I should have known you wouldn’t –”

He was shaking his head. “It’s not that. It’s that you care so much. About everyone. I love that.” He tilted his head. “I love _you_.”

“Yeah, well, I love you back,” she said, leaning into him as her tension eased. “You care about everyone, too, by the way.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“It doesn’t need to be proven. Everyone already knows.”

“Maaaybe,” he hedged, drawing it out because (she suspected) he knew it’d make her smile. “Shall we?” he asked, tipping his head to the portal which was probably going to disappear any moment, with how long they were taking.

“We shall,” she said, as they stepped through and emerged in Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs, in a section of the building she already knew was locked and off-limits to everyone except Harry. He led her out a back way, explaining there were no cameras there and he always left to reenter through the front doors because it limited any questions he might get about how he’d gotten into the building without anyone seeing.

When they rounded the building and she saw the front of Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs in all its glory, she was stunned. It was incredible, gleaming in a way the building didn’t on her Earth. It was all shiny chrome and pristine glass and clean concrete. It looked new enough that it might have been built the previous day.

What struck her even more, though, was the look on Harry’s face. He loved this place in a way he didn’t at home – she could _see_ it on him. It not only surprised her, it momentarily saddened her that he couldn't experience this every day.

“There it is,” he said proudly. “ _My_ S.T.A.R. Labs. I put decades into this place and it’s as beautiful as I remember.”

She wouldn’t argue that, not on any level. “Normally, this is the point where I’d say something like ‘Barry’s picture didn’t do it justice’, but…”

“It really did,” Harry said, nodding. “I still take a moment to appreciate his drawing whenever I walk into my office. It’s like I have part of this place with me back home.”

She was confused for a second before remembering he called their Earth ‘home’. He’d never referred to Earth-2 even _once_ that way since the timeline changed, that she could recall.

They made their way through the staff parking lot and it was completely full of cars; that was all she needed to see to know the building was fully-staffed. She lingered a little to admire how so many of the vehicles looked as if they’d been driven straight out of the 1950’s. “You guys really like the retro look around here, huh?”

“It’s not retro here,” he pointed out. “It’s modern! It’s at home where everything’s backwards.”

“Maybe you’re backwards,” she said, which didn’t make much sense as a comeback, and his look told her as much.

“On this Earth, we’re open to visitors every day,” he told her. “Let’s go around to that entrance so you can get the full experience.”

“I’ve thought about it,” she said, as they walked toward the visitors’ lot, “but I can’t come up with a reason why I never came here with you.” She couldn’t help wondering about her past motives. (Why she might have been reluctant to visit a place that obviously meant so much to him.)

“I invited you a few times, but you always said you were too busy or didn’t feel like going. In truth, though you never said it, I think you didn’t want to come because the only memories you ever had on this Earth were bad ones.” His eyes darkened at thoughts of Hunter Zolomon. “But in any event, my staff knows your name and how wonderful you are, because I’ve talked about you a lot. Need me to go over the backstory again? The one I told them when I ‘retired’?”

She shook her head, indicating she remembered it from when they’d gotten on the topic the prior week. His story on this Earth was that the two of them lived in Europe, in a chalet in Norden to be precise. (She’d been thoroughly confused at a non-existent country until he explained that Norway and Sweden had merged on his Earth. “Swedeway sounded awkward to say,” he’d explained, and when Caitlin had asked him for a thorough history of what led to the merger, Cisco had loudly announced he was going to lunch and he’d be back when they were done trying to “history him to death.”)

Jesse’s absence on Earth-2 was equally explained by saying she went to school in Europe. The best part of it was that Harry actually _did_ own a chalet in Norden (and Caitlin was tempted to ask him if they could visit it someday).

When they reached the visitors’ lot, it was almost as full as the staff lot, with school buses and tour buses lined up in a special parking area. There was also a picnic area populated with tables and benches, which they didn’t have at home, but it was empty now due to the colder weather.

They weren’t even in the building yet and there were people everywhere: tour groups and families and employees criss-crossing every which way on the pathways and through the parking lot. Many of them were wearing the same kinds of fashions Caitlin associated with some 60 or 70 years earlier. Luckily, there were also plenty of more modern-looking visitors, so she and Harry wouldn’t stand out due to their attire.

When they reached the front entrance (which they rarely used at home), she began feeling a sense of déjà vu that she knew stemmed from her days working at S.T.A.R. Labs before the particle accelerator explosion. This building was just as impressive as the one back home had once been. The front doors slid open for them automatically and they followed a short, interior walkway that opened up into an immense, polished, and gleaming lobby.

“Caitlin Snow,” she heard Harry saying, as she took a few steps away from him, “welcome to Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs.”

“Wow,” she breathed, taking it all in. She craned her neck to look up at the ceiling which stretched far above them and had numerous skylights. There were people milling around everywhere, but the lobby didn’t feel crowded due to the sheer size of it. “I haven’t seen it like this in years. After the particle accelerator explosion…” She didn’t have to explain, since he knew the sequence of events as well as she did.

Back home, S.T.A.R. Labs had never recovered like this one because there had been no Harrison Wells to rebuild it. He’d obviously invested years in restoring this one – _his_ lab – to its former glory. On Earth-1, he’d saved them from bankruptcy and fixed their reputation, but that was the extent of it (and it didn’t even come close to what he’d done on Earth-2). Seeing the building like this, completely repaired and full of visitors, had unleashed a cascade of memories Caitlin was entirely unprepared for.

How much she’d _missed_ this.

Even though the room was similar to her memories, she noticed plenty of differences as she looked around, and the most glaring immediately grabbed her attention: on the wall opposite them and a few feet above their heads, prominent to every new visitor, was a painting of Harrison Wells. It was at least twice life-size and had a plaque underneath with his name, followed by ‘Founder of S.T.A.R. Labs’.

“Oh,” she said quietly. “Oh wow.”

“Isn’t it amazing?” he asked, cheerfully. “I can look down upon everyone from up there.”

“It’s…” Truthfully, she had no words, other than she found it mildly disconcerting. There was nothing wrong with the painting itself, and it was almost a photo-realistic likeness of him, but there was something about it... Maybe the size? Maybe the way his eyes seemed to follow her, no matter where she was standing? “Uh. It’s…something.”

He leaned closer to her ear. “I was kidding, I _hate_ it. It’s so awful – they did it before I left as a surprise going-away present. Yes, a present for me that _they_ got to keep. Wrap your mind around that one. Not that I would have wanted this in any of my homes. I mean, why does it have to be so big? It’s all you can see when you walk in!”

“Huh,” she sent him a shrewd glance, “I’d have thought you’d love that.”

He didn’t answer – his expression was more than enough.

“Look at it another way,” she cajoled. “It shows how much they love you. They wanted you with them, always.”

“It’s bizarre,” he said, flatly. “It makes me feel like I’m dead. Like they’re just waiting to hear news of my demise so they can slap some dates on the plaque as an immortal tribute to me.”

An internal wave of ice swept through her veins when he said that, joking though it was. _A world without him…_ But that _had_ been her world, hadn’t it? Before things had changed…she’d known him, but her world hadn’t had him in it, not the way he was now. It terrified her to think about what she would do if she didn’t have him. If she woke up one day and –

“Don’t say things like that,” she ordered, voice low.

“Careful,” he nudged her shoulder, “I might start thinking you’re attached to me.” Despite the lightness of his words, he slid a hand down to find hers and she gripped it back too tightly.

“What if I am?” She gasped and turned to him in faux-horror. “I need to reevaluate some things…what’s your net worth again?”

“I love it when you joke about my demise in terms of what you would financially gain.”

“Guess you shouldn’t have been rich, then,” she teased, glad their familiar banter had taken the sting out of the chilling effect his first joke had on her.

He was studying his portrait critically. “What would Cisco do if we put a painting like this in the lobby at home?”

That would be… _amazing_. “Don’t tease me with promises like that,” she warned.

“His reaction would be fantastic, I agree, but the risk is probably too great. Once he found out I despised it, he’d weld it to the wall or something and proclaim it had to stay for eternity.”

“It might be worth it.”

“For _you_. Not for me.” He stared up at himself. “One of these is bad enough.”

They finally made it over to the ticket counter and the kid behind it barely gave them a second glance as he slid over two visitor passes already on S.T.A.R. Labs lanyards. (It wasn’t until Caitlin went to loop the lanyard around her neck that she realized she’d never let go of Harry’s hand.)

“I can’t believe he didn’t recognize you,” Caitlin said, voice hushed as they walked away. She had a sudden thought that everyone was going to start recognizing Harry now, especially after – she glanced back at the painting. “How does he not have that image burned into his brain, especially when he works in the lobby?”

“People see what they expect to see,” Harry told her, “but you’re right. Some of them will start recognizing me unless I take counteractive measures soon.”

He clipped his own original key card onto the lanyard along with the visitor pass, explaining to her that his card still gave him access to every part of the building and that had been one of his stipulations when he retired. He followed that up with a brief lecture about how key card technology was superior on Earth-2, since the cards couldn’t be cloned and only worked with their specified users.

Harry had told her, previously, that he retained any final say over _anything_ that happened there. Other people ran S.T.A.R. Labs now, but if he came back and didn’t like something, he could override their decisions or even take his old job back, if he chose (and it surprised her not in the _least_ that he’d retained control over things to the point that he’d had such a contract drawn up when he resigned).

As they walked, Harry gave her a quick rundown of the various sections open to visitors. Caitlin tried to pay attention, though she kept getting distracted by the excited shouts of children and the flashing, colorful displays.

“We’ll go find the current CEO so I can catch up a bit, then hit Research & Development, and we can be out of here in…an hour tops?”

“Sure,” she said, barely able to tear her eyes away from an exhibit on how S.T.A.R. Labs currently had a carbon footprint of zero and was actively working to help other businesses reduce their carbon emissions, as well. It had a scale-model of the entire building cut in half, and the miniaturized displays inside the rooms all worked.

She wished they had more time to look around. There had been exhibits at Earth-1’s S.T.A.R. Labs when she’d first worked there, but they’d been completely different. Harry was long-used to things here, but to her, it was brand-new and fascinating. It was busy and crazy and thriving and it made her realize –

The building was _alive_ in a way their S.T.A.R. Labs no longer was.

As they moved into the more crowded exhibits, Caitlin began noticing glances toward her and Harry that lasted too long. He must have noticed, too, because when they passed the gift shop, he grabbed a S.T.A.R. Labs baseball cap from one of the displays right outside the door and put it on mid-stride, without pausing.

“Did you just steal that hat?” Caitlin twisted around to look behind them (maybe to make sure no staff ran out of the shop after them).

“Is it possible to steal from yourself?” he asked, which she took as a ‘yes’.

“If this is what you meant by ‘counteractive measures’, it’s the perfect disguise,” she sarcastically assured him. “No one will ever recognize you.” Sure enough, the curious glances didn’t stop, even though no one approached them.

They entered a room dedicated to satellites and space exploration, coming across a class, maybe 7th or 8th grade (or as Harry called them, ‘levels’) who were watching a video on the launch of S.T.A.R. Labs’ newest satellite. It was supposed to speed up communication by 20%, and Caitlin got pulled into it for a minute, but a few stragglers near the back of the class had gotten bored and were bickering with each other instead of watching the video. One of them pushed the other and he hit a display case that held a scale-model replica of the satellite.

“Watch this,” Harry told her. “The youth love me here.” He took off his hat and offered it to the slightly shorter of the two boys. “Here ya go, kid. Have a free hat.”

“Why would I want your hat?” the kid asked, sounding put out for _no reason_ in the way only a 12-year-old could manage (or maybe Harry, himself).

“Hey, I know you,” the kid’s friend said, grabbing the hat and putting it on. “You’re Harrison Wells!”

“No way,” said kid #1. “He doesn’t even live in this country anymore.”

“I’m telling you,” kid #2 insisted, “it’s him. Remember the awful painting in the lobby?” They turned twin gazes to study Harry, both their eyes widening upon realizing he actually _was_ Harrison Wells.

Harry leaned over to Caitlin. “Remind me to set that painting on fire before we go. Or maybe I can pay these kids to vandalize it.”

“Don’t have to pay us, we’ll do it for free!” Kid #1’s eyes had lit up too much for Caitlin’s liking.

“He’s kidding,” Caitlin said. Then looked at Harry. Who wasn’t kidding. “Harrison.”

“Fine, I’m kidding,” he relented, even as he shook his head at the boys to indicate that he wasn’t.

“What are your names?” Caitlin asked, trying desperately to get the conversation back on a track that wouldn’t end with the three of them committing property damage.

“I’m Maverick,” said kid #1.

“Maverick,” Harry repeated slowly, then glanced at Caitlin.

“No!”

“Fine,” he said sullenly. “But Maverick Wells has quite the ring to it. Boy _or_ girl.” He pointed at the other kid. “What about you?”

“I’m David. We aren’t in trouble, are we?” He glanced guiltily at the display case they’d hit a minute earlier.

“Nah, don’t damage anything, though. Aside from the painting. Or else you’ll be working it off.”

“You can’t do that,” Maverick argued. “That’s like…slave labor.”

“I can do whatever I want,” Harry told them, then proclaimed with a flourish, “I’m Harrison Wells.”

“Is it true what they say?” David asked, dropping his voice as he scanned around to make sure no one else was listening. “Are you a _spy_?”

“That’s what they’re saying?” Harry seemed pretty impressed ( _of course_ ). “The rumors around here keep getting better and better.”

“He totally is,” Maverick hissed to his friend, “but forget about the rumor everyone repeats that he’s on our side – when my brother learned about our field trip today, he warned me that Harrison Wells was secretly born in Australia and that he’s still loyal to his homeland. Can’t you hear the hint of an Australian accent in his voice?”

David was completely pulled in by his friend’s story and turned back to Harry, clearly appalled. “I can’t believe they let a traitor like you back into the country!”

Caitlin was trying her best to follow along. “What’s this about Australia?”

“Oh that. Yeah, we don’t get along,” Harry explained. “You know what they say about the land up over?”

“The land…where?”

He waved her off. “We use different projection maps here – never mind, I’ll show you later.” He turned back to the boys. “I’m not an Australian spy.”

David clearly didn’t believe him. “Are you here to kill us?”

Harry rubbed a hand over his forehead. “I’m not here to kill you.”

“That’s exactly what a spy would say,” Maverick informed him, obviously suspicious.

“You’ll have to take my word for it,” Harry said, dismissively. “Or…don’t.”

Caitlin hid her amusement when the two boys took a few steps back, but they didn’t seem deterred enough to leave outright, probably too intrigued at the opportunity to have an exclusive audience with the founder of S.T.A.R. Labs.

“Alright, you’re probably not an Australian spy,” Maverick allowed. “You’d have to be brilliant to pull that off.”

Harry belatedly picked up on the insult. “Hey, wait a –”

“Since you’re Harrison Wells,” David cut him off, before pointing to Caitlin, “that means you must be Jesse!”

“Please,” Harry laughed. “She does _not_ look 22.”

Caitlin turned to stare at him, no hint of an expression on her face.

“Because she looks much…younger?” Harry asked, trying to cover up the rest of his laughter by coughing.

“I’m going to pretend that wasn’t a question,” Caitlin told him, then decided her best bet was to refocus on the kids. “I’m his wife,” she explained, thinking in the back of her mind how easy it was to say that now.

“Why’d you marry him?” David asked, in that brash way only kids seemed to pull off without thinking too hard about it. Well, them or…she glanced at Harry again.

Maverick elbowed his friend. “Come on, he’s _Harrison Wells_!”

Oh, she could tell Harry loved _that_ explanation. “See, Snow, what’d I tell you about the youth here? They idolize me, see me as an inspiring figure who –”

“When you’re that rich,” Maverick told his friend, talking right over Harry, “my dad said you can buy any wife you want.”

“Alright,” Harry tried to intervene, “maybe you two should go back to your class.”

David turned to Caitlin, critically. “How much did you cost?”

“Far more than you’ll ever be able to afford,” she told him sharply, as David reddened and Maverick began laughing at his friend’s embarrassment.

Harry stared the two of them down with an expression that instantly ended the laughter, and even had Caitlin suppressing a shiver. “ _Go_.”

“I totally heard the Australian accent in that,” David whispered to Maverick as they backed away a little before booking it across the room to rejoin their class. When they glanced back to see Harry still watching them, they quickly left the room altogether.

It was all Caitlin could do to stop herself from laughing. She’d never seen Harry taken down so quickly and effectively by _anyone_ , never mind a couple of twelve-year-olds.

“The youth really do love you,” she murmured, resting her head against his shoulder.

He turned to press a kiss to her hair. “The good ones, in any case,” he said, and she could have sworn he was sulking.

They continued their tour through S.T.A.R. Labs as they headed in the general direction of the CEO’s office – Harry’s office at home. When they made their way through a room dedicated entirely to light and its properties, Caitlin realized Harry wasn’t talking nearly as much anymore.

“You miss it here,” she said, quietly.

“Not here, as in this Earth,” he explained, “but this place, how it’s always so full of people, the amount of innovation going on, the way it teaches the public about science and engineering, the way it excites an entirely new generation, inspiring them to pursue science…” He stopped to watch a group of schoolchildren surrounding a hologram; they were giggling with awe as they ran their hands through it and blocked the light. “ _That_ is what I miss.”

Caitlin watched the children, too, as their teacher issued a rebuke and the kids scattered to other displays. One of them ran toward her and Harry, forcing them to step apart so the child could escape by running between them – as her teacher shouted after her to stop running.

“That one would probably be our kid,” she told Harry, laughing.

“Unruly? Unmanageable? Doesn’t follow any of my rules or listen to anything I say?” He arched a brow. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

“Barry and Cisco aren’t that bad.”

“I was talking about _you_.”

She hit him on the arm and had a mental image of the others teaching their child all kinds of tricks to harass Harry. And her. “Yeah, we might have to limit our friends’ influence…”

“That’s it, he or she’s off to boarding school. I can’t have my kid turning out like Allen. Or worse, Ramon.”

She knew he was joking, about the last part at least, but… “You’re not really a fan of boarding schools, are you?”

An inscrutable expression crossed his face. “I went to boarding schools.”

“So you like the idea of…?”

“I _hated_ them,” he said, and it surprised her how vicious the words were – it was a rare thing to hear from him. “How any parent can send their child away…no, never.” He sent her a look. “Have you seen how overly attached I am to my daughter? It’s easier to let her go a little now that she’s an adult in her own right, but our child is never going to be in a separate country from me.”

“Good,” she said, relieved, then added, “I’m sorry that you had to go if you hated it.”

“My parents sent me overseas because they knew I was exceptional and they wanted to give me the best shot in life, opportunities I wouldn’t have gotten if I’d stayed with them. If they hadn’t done it, I might never have built this place.” He was watching a different group of children put brightly colored filters over lights on the walls, changing the entire glow of the room. “They could have moved with me, though.” He snapped himself out of it and looked back at her. “I missed them.”

“And now?”

“They’re long gone,” he said, as he led her into the next room, which was entirely devoted to magnets. “They died before I moved back to the U.S.” His eyes held grief from long ago. “I feel like I never got any time with them. Probably because I really didn’t, not after age eight.”

“ _Eight_?” she whispered, leaning against him, no idea what to say to make it better. All she could do was repeat, “I’m sorry.”

“My kid will _never_ miss me the way I missed my parents.”

“Well, you also have the benefit of being a genius. You could homeschool our child if they had exceptional abilities. Your parents couldn’t. They wanted to give you a better life.”

“I know.” He put his arm around her, then seemed to change his mind and used it to pull her into a hug. “That didn’t make it hurt any less.”

They watched a group of middle-schoolers start throwing magnets back and forth at each other over the top of a magnetic table. The kids were overjoyed at how the magnets caught each other and changed direction in mid-air – it was a game purposely set up for them to see magnetic properties firsthand. Caitlin went back to her own silent game, imagining which one of the kids their child would be most like.

“Harrison?” A voice from a few feet to their left got their attention and they looked over to find a very pretty – and very familiar – woman standing there. Harry had told Caitlin a while ago who he’d promoted as S.T.A.R. Lab’s CEO to replace him, but it was still a shock for her to see Sara Lance standing before them. “My God, it _is_ you,” Sara declared. “Harrison Wells, as I live and breathe!”

“Sara,” Harry greeted warmly, letting go of Caitlin to hold out his hand, but the blonde brushed him off and pulled him into a hug instead. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“You too,” she said, pressing her hands to his arms as she pulled away in order to look up at him. “I thought you were in Europe! I say this every time, but I wish you would tell us when you were coming so we could set up a proper reception for you.”

“Last minute trip, as usual,” Harry said, gesturing between the two women. “Caitlin, this is Sara Lance, the current CEO of S.T.A.R. Labs. Sara, this is my wife, Dr. Caitlin Wells.”

Caitlin moved forward to shake Sara’s hand, ignoring the oddity of being introduced to a version of a woman she was well-acquainted with on her own Earth. And of hearing her name paired with the surname Wells. She’d heard it several times by now, but it always surprised her a little, and there was something about the way Harry said it that made her heart skip a beat.

Sara did to Caitlin exactly what she’d done to Harry, brushing off the attempt at a handshake and pulling her into a hug. Caitlin expected to feel uncomfortable, but there was such friendliness and open kindness from the other woman that she didn’t tense up or feel awkward. Stepping back, she studied Sara’s face, finding it nearly identical to the current captain of the Waverider – but this Sara’s hair was much shorter, cut into a stylish bob. She was wearing an emerald green dress, sleek but professional, and it struck Caitlin how few times she’d seen Sara in an outfit like that. And she had a wedding ring on her finger, as well. Caitlin just barely stopped herself from asking who she was married to, recognizing it would seem a little odd.

“We finally get to meet, I can’t believe this,” Sara was saying, as she beamed at Caitlin. “My, you are stunning.” Interestingly enough, Caitlin thought she heard a hint of Southern twang in Sara’s voice and wondered if regional accents were similar on this planet. (That was something to ask Harry later, preferably in front of Cisco so he could suffer through Harry’s lecture on the topic while she thoroughly enjoyed it – for some reason, Cisco’s continued annoyance at hearing about Earth-2 made everything Harry told her about it that much better.) “Harrison, why didn’t you tell us she was stunning?”

“Because I wanted to keep her all to myself,” Harry replied, with the faintest hint of a smirk.

“Oh, stop,” Caitlin told Sara, slightly embarrassed, even though she was pleased at the compliment. “As if you’re not gorgeous yourself.”

The compliment caused Sara to laugh; it was high and bright. “I’m liking you more by the second, Caitlin.”

Sara was basically echoing her thoughts, because Caitlin felt much the same. She could already see the differences between the two versions of Sara Lance, just as she could tell that it’d be easy to become friends with this woman, too. Harry had mentioned that the Sara he knew had never been on _The Queen’s Gambit_ , so she’d never been shipwrecked on Lian Yu, she’d never joined the League of Assassins, and she’d certainly never died and been resurrected. The entire domino effect of life-changing hardships hadn’t happened to her and it was apparent that a life without so much pain and tragedy had allowed her to become a more open, carefree person. It was somewhat astonishing to witness firsthand how a single different choice in one’s youth could so drastically alter the trajectory of a life. This Sara Lance had gone down another path – one which had ultimately led her to S.T.A.R. Labs.

While Caitlin’s thoughts drifted, Harry had told Sara their reason for visiting, and that they weren’t planning to stay long that day. Sara seemed more interested in Caitlin, though, if the curious glances she kept sending her way were any indication.

“At some point, I want to hear exactly how Harry won you over,” Sara said, and it sounded just shy of a demand. “He always had a…unique way of charming women. Usually without even realizing it.” She winked at her former boss as she told Caitlin, “Remind me to share a few stories sometime.”

Harry tried to glare at her, but his eyes were smiling, which gave him away (as usual). “Don’t believe _anything_ she tells you, Snow. Ever.”

“He calls you by your maiden name,” Sara said, laughing again, and Caitlin realized it came as naturally to her as her benevolent personality. “That is too adorable for words.” She lowered her a voice a little, conspiratorially. “My husband does the same.”

“Sara,” Harry tried to scold, “please spare us an hour of stories about how in love with your husband you are.”

“Really, Harrison! Like we never heard the same from you.” Sara tapped him playfully on the arm. “Caitlin this and Caitlin that and ‘I think I’m going to leave for Caitlin –’”

“That’s enough,” Harry said, equal parts amused and exasperated.

“No, I want to hear all about that at some point,” Caitlin insisted. “ _And_ about how he spent so many years supposedly charming all these women…” She sent Harry a critical glance. “Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.”

Harry leaned over to whisper in her ear, “Oh, you’ve seen it,” in that particular way which made her blush (and he damn well knew it, too – it was mostly why he did it).

“Don’t despair, Caitlin, I’ll tell you everything,” Sara faux-whispered.

Harry’s stance had turned from decidedly arrogant to potentially wary. “I’m beginning to regret this introduction immensely.”

Sara paid him no mind. “Harry told us how wonderful you were, Caitlin, but we were so curious because we never got to meet you. We always wondered what kind of woman could have stolen him away from us. It was such a shock, too – after so many years here without even a hint of someone else, we were convinced that S.T.A.R. Labs was the last great love of his life.”

“You were very wrong,” Harry murmured, and the depth of feeling in those words caused Caitlin to get a little lost when their eyes met. She even forgot for a moment that Sara was standing there with them.

The S.T.A.R. Labs CEO certainly wasn’t used to it though, and she looked between them with yet another growing smile, then mimicked fanning herself. “Did someone turn up the heat in here? Is it me?”

“Save it, Lance,” Harry said, tone exactly the same as when he used it on Barry or Cisco, and Caitlin grinned widely at the realization that he’d had a similar relationship with Sara Lance on this Earth. (She loved that some things _never_ changed.)

Sara looked as if she desperately wanted to go on, but then glanced at Caitlin and held herself back, probably not wanting to seem rude. “Everyone will be so happy to see you both. I’ll gather them together so you can give a speech, Harrison.”

“I don’t want that,” Harry said, even as Sara shook her finger at him.

“Nonsense, you can’t come all the way here from Norden only to leave again without talking to anyone. They’ll be too disappointed. Tell you what, I’ll fill you in on what’s been going on here and you can reconsider your position on giving a brief, motivational speech.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest again and Caitlin quickly said, “He would love to do it.”

He pinned her with a glare, but said nothing.

“They miss you here,” she told him. “I’m sure you talking to them would mean a lot.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Harry relented, sounding as thrilled as if he’d agreed to have his teeth pulled.

Caitlin crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Stop acting like this is the most trying thing you’ve ever had to deal with.”

“It’s definitely not. You forget that I’m married to _you_.”

“Hmm, for how much longer?” she asked, sweetly. And it wasn’t until after she said it that she realized she could comfortably say things like that now without worrying he’d take it the wrong way.

“Like you could do better than me!” he shot back.

Sara was watching them with barely concealed delight. “You’re exactly how I imagined you, Caitlin. Someone who could put him in his place, like he badly needed.” She turned to Harry. “Jesse tried, but never hard enough – she indulged you far too often.”

“You don’t have to worry about that from her,” Harry told his friend. “Caitlin _never_ indulges me.”

Caitlin took a threatening step toward him for that blatant lie, and he smoothly moved backwards. “I’ll show you indulgence,” she muttered, which was pretty poor as far as comebacks went, but she was running out of them and it was nearing the time in the afternoon when she usually got tired. Harry’s amusement at her non-threat showed that he knew it, too.

“Have you already been around the building?” Sara asked them, unable to keep the rising enthusiasm out of her voice. “We just set up a new exhibit on the theoretical possibilities of time travel. It’s fascinating – I swear I’ve spent hours there, already.”

Harry and Caitlin exchanged a quick look – as far as either of them were aware, if time travel currently existed on Earth-2, no one yet knew about it.

“Do you believe in that?” Caitlin asked carefully. “That we could time travel one day?”

“I think it’s highly improbable,” Sara said. “The practicalities of it seem almost insurmountable, but if we could…just imagine!” Her eyes had taken on a sort-of glazed look. “Although, it’d be incredibly dangerous. You’d be as likely to accidentally erase yourself as you were to fix any past injustices. In fact, we have an interactive program where you can go back and change over a hundred moments in history, from the mundane to the significant. Then the simulation takes you through and shows you how the world might have completely changed as a result.”

“That sounds fascinating,” Caitlin told her, and even though she’d witnessed time travel personally (and participated in it, depending upon the definition), the program did sound like a lot of fun.

“Our engineers are always adding new scenarios. It’s been a huge hit with the public so far, too.” Sara blinked, seeming to bring herself back to reality. “Sorry, I’ve gone off on a tangent. The topic has always fascinated me and I was a huge advocate for the exhibit’s development over the past year.”

“Don’t apologize,” Caitlin said. “I hope if time travel ever becomes a reality that it will serve to improve people’s lives.”

“I think it could,” Sara said, optimistically. “And I’m sure that if it ever happened, any intervention in the past – or the future – would be performed by highly-skilled and extensively trained operatives.”

“Of course,” Harry agreed, completely deadpan, which forced Caitlin to bite her lip to try and stop herself from laughing, since it would make no sense given the context of the conversation. It didn’t really work, though, and she turned to press her forehead against his arm in another attempt at stifling her laughter. There was something so existentially awe-inspiring about the fact that she could have this relatively mundane conversation, not only while she was on an _alternate Earth_ , but also while knowing that time travel had shaped her life in so many ways.

“What’s so funny?” she heard Sara asking. “Did I miss an inside joke?”

“Something like that,” Caitlin said, turning back to her, even as she still leaned on Harry. “Mostly, I’m just…overtired.”

“Why don’t you head down to R&D while Sara and I catch up?” Harry was looking down at her, and she took a moment to appreciate the shared humor in his eyes, along with the hint of concern. “The walk should perk you up and all the stuff I need is there, so I’ll meet you outside the main lab. There are a lot of fascinating exhibits to check out along the way.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sara agreed. “Harry told us you were a bioengineer and a doctor?” When Caitlin nodded, she said, “You’ll love it down there – we have a lot of cutting edge medical patents, some of which have been integrated into the R&D exhibits.”

“By ‘we’, she means ‘me’,” Harry told Caitlin, imperiously.

“There are a few other inventors around here, Harrison.” Sara’s tone was exasperated, but her broad smile conveyed that she was more or less used to that kind of arrogance from him, and (in Caitlin’s opinion) had even missed it.

“A _few_ ,” Harry was scoffing, as he and Sara began bickering over who they considered the most talented engineers S.T.A.R. Labs had on its payroll now that Harry had ‘retired’. That quickly turned into a discussion on whose patents had proven most profitable over the years.

Caitlin couldn’t contribute, since she didn’t know any of the people involved, aside from Harry. “I’m going to…” She gestured vaguely down the hall to indicate she was leaving. She was actually glad that Harry didn’t expect her to stand around while they talked about things she genuinely didn’t care about, but which seemed to fascinate him to no end. It was no secret that Caitlin had always preferred the science and engineering aspects of S.T.A.R. Labs. Investors and revenue didn’t interest her in the slightest.

“Research and Development is the next floor down,” Sara told her. “It’s all the way in the back northwest corner of the building. You can’t miss it if you follow the signs.” Of course, she had no idea that Caitlin also worked in the same building and knew where it was; Caitlin just nodded politely.

“I won’t be too long,” Harry told her, running a hand down her arm to take her hand, lightly grasping it. “You’ll be fine on your own?”

Caitlin nodded, squeezing his hand back in reassurance. “Have fun talking business, you two.”

“Oh, we’ll probably be talking more about _you_ ,” Sara promised, as Caitlin laughed and gave them a final wave before heading off down the hall.

She purposely went the long way to R&D, strolling through the winding, familiar (yet so different) corridors of S.T.A.R. Labs. It seemed that most of it was open to visitors with only a few more sensitive areas that had restricted access. None of them were labeled, but she recognized one doorway that led to where they stored weapons at home.

Most rooms in her building were closed-off or had long fallen into disuse. There was simply no need to keep up such a large building when only a handful of people worked there.

This place, though… _this_ place had an energy that was infectious. Caitlin felt more awake just from walking around, weaving her way through crowds of people. Families visiting. Tour groups. School field trips.

Employees moved through the sea of visitors as easily as Caitlin did. From the interactions she saw, they weren’t stand-offish or annoyed at all by the hundreds of people that flowed through their workplace every day. Even the employees who were clearly scientists and not those specifically hired to interact with visitors (like the tour guides and people who ran the exhibits) would happily engage with anyone who stopped them to ask a question.

It didn’t surprise her, either. These were the kinds of people Harrison Wells would have hired. Those who were so enthusiastic about their profession that they wanted to share their love for it with anyone willing to learn. That passion for what he did was one of the things she admired most about Harry.

He’d literally turned his love for science into a center of technology, innovation, and learning. If just being in the building filled her with wonder, she tried to imagine what it had to be like for him. To look around and know he was responsible for this? _All of it_? She couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of pride he must feel every time he walked through the doors.

And he’d left this place. He’d left it – mostly – for _her_.

Forget about wanting to come up with a way to thank him for all he’d done for her since the timeline changed – now she was wondering if she’d ever found a way to pay him back for all he’d done _before that_. For quite literally giving up his entire life.

Since she’d purposely taken the long way downstairs, that meant she came back upon the lobby, and her steps slowed as she entered it. As she took in the happiness and excitement of the visitors around her, she was momentarily at a loss; she was already becoming attached to this S.T.A.R. Labs and she’d been there less than an hour. What must Harry feel when he’d been there for _decades_?

The longer she thought about it, the more she was reasonably certain that almost nothing would ever be enough to make up for what he’d left behind in order to move to Earth-1. And it was that thought, in the lobby of Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs, that sparked the beginning of a new possibility in her. That maybe she didn’t need to go looking anymore for a way to thank Harry – for _everything_ – because what she’d been searching for was everywhere. It was _all around her_.

She was standing in the middle of her answer.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone wondering, I'd say this story is approximately 2/3 of the way done, but seeing as it's already twice as long as I planned (and every time I think of a new idea it somehow turns into an entirely new chapter or arc), I might very well be wrong. What isn't in doubt is that this story has a ways to go yet - and yes, there are answers at the end of the road. I'm very happy to hear that people are still enjoying it!

Caitlin was completely lost in her thoughts, absently staring at the portrait of Harry in the lobby without really seeing it. In her mind, she only saw him. The _real_ him. And how happy he was in S.T.A.R. Labs.

“Can I help you with anything?” The bright, peppy voice came from right behind her. Caitlin turned to find a girl, perhaps Jesse’s age, wearing a S.T.A.R. Labs shirt and lanyard that indicated she was a tour guide and her name was Mierra.

Caitlin stared at her blankly for a few seconds before registering the question was meant for her. “What?”

“Are you lost? You look a little lost.”

“Yes,” Caitlin answered, then amended, “no.” She paused, replaying the question. “Maybe I am, but in a different way than you’re thinking.”

The young woman smiled, confused though it was. “We have maps,” she offered, holding one out.

Caitlin shook her head to indicate she didn’t need one. “No, thank you, M…” She hesitated on the pronunciation.

“Mierra,” she said, and it rhymed with Sierra. “Like the Mierra River.” At Caitlin’s blank look, she explained, “Named after the famous explorers, Lewis, Mierra, and Clark?”

Caitlin had only heard of two of those people, but nodded anyways. “You have a very pretty name.”

“Thank you.” The girl veritably beamed at her, then gestured to the painting right above them, which she’d obviously noticed Caitlin had been staring at. “Would you like to hear about our founder and former CEO, Harrison Wells?”

“I know him pretty well,” Caitlin said. At least, she thought she did. Today was beginning to make her wonder about things – _a lot_ of things – she’d never considered before.

“Done your research, have you?” Mierra had taken Caitlin’s statement as general instead of personal, and why wouldn’t she? As far as Mierra was concerned, Harrison Wells had retired and moved away. The last thing she’d have expected was to run into his actual _wife_ milling around in the lobby of S.T.A.R. Labs.

“You could say I’ve…put in some time,” Caitlin replied, deciding at the last second to remain cryptic. She couldn’t help it; she didn’t want to pass up this chance to hear about him from someone who wouldn’t color her answers based on Caitlin’s relationship to him. “I heard he retired?”

“Over a year ago,” Mierra confirmed. “He currently lives in Europe, Norden to be precise, with his wife Caitlin. Or at least that’s what he says, no one here has ever met her. He visits every few months, but unfortunately, he never announces when he’s coming. You’d need pretty lucky timing to run into him here.”

Caitlin almost laughed at that, considering that at times it felt like she spent nearly every waking moment with him. Her amusement faded, though, when she had a sudden flash of what it might have been like on this Earth if she’d merely been a colleague of Harrison Wells. If she’d worked with him, every day, only for him to suddenly announce his retirement and leave. If he only visited sporadically after that, and never with any warning.

What would it have been like if she’d never known when he’d return? Never known if that would be the last time she’d ever see him?

What would it have felt like to know he was going somewhere she could never follow him?

A wave of lightheadedness came over her, temporarily turning her vision dark, and then light again.

She bit her lip to refocus and ground herself, and mustn’t have hid it that well, if the way Mierra was watching her was any indication. “Are you okay?” the tour guide asked, and that was when Caitlin noticed she’d taken hold of her arm.

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m –” She broke off, having no idea what to say. Revealing she was pregnant would be an easy excuse, but it would set off a flurry of alarm that she didn’t want to deal with. And she certainly couldn’t tell the _truth_ , which was that the thought of never seeing Harry again had triggered a rush of panic that nearly caused her to _faint_. (What was she, a heroine in some overly dramatic, historical romance novel?)

Besides, how would she even begin to explain at this point? _You see, Mierra, I guess I’m kind of attached to my husband and was just imagining my life without him, which apparently isn’t good for me. What does he have to do with anything, you ask? Oh right, you know him because he coincidentally happens to be the founder of S.T.A.R. Labs and I left that part out earlier because…of reasons._

Mierra had given up on waiting for Caitlin to finish her sentence. “You don’t look fine,” she insisted, pulling out her phone. “We have a clinic right on site –”

“No,” Caitlin said, managing to keep her voice much steadier than she felt. “I’m just tired, it’s been a long afternoon.” When Mierra seemed unconvinced, Caitlin nodded at the painting, in a bid at distraction. “Your founder is retired and still visits?”

“I think he had a hard time letting go,” Mierra said, in a tone of confession, and Caitlin let out a sigh of relief when the girl slid her phone back into her pocket. “No one could believe it when he said he was leaving and a lot of people thought it was an elaborate joke until he actually _did_ leave. He was pretty beloved around here; it wasn’t too long ago, so the staff is almost the same as when he left – not a lot of people tend to leave a job at S.T.A.R. Labs if they’re lucky enough to get one. So yeah, most people still miss him. It’s always a highlight around here when he comes to visit.”

“I know what that’s like,” Caitlin said, without thinking. (Hearing all of that made her even happier that she’d strong-armed Harry into speaking to the staff before he left.) When Mierra’s smile again turned questioning, Caitlin scrambled to add, “What I meant is that I know what it’s like…in a general…abstract…completely unrelated way?”

“Okaaay,” the girl said, drawing it out, and Caitlin wondered if she was regretting coming over to talk to her in the first place. “So…” Mierra paused, tilting her head. “Sorry, you never gave me your name.”

Caitlin inwardly cursed, wondering how this conversation had gotten so convoluted. It’d be quite the coincidence to give her real first name when Mierra knew it was the name of her former boss’s wife – not to mention she’d said so many odd things (and the girl seemed sharp enough) that she’d probably figure out the truth fairly quickly. She had a split-second thought of coming clean and revealing who she was, then decided against it. It felt much too late by now, and no doubt the girl would have a dozen questions for her, when she really should be moving on soon.

“I’m Cait,” Caitlin told her, before trying to pivot the conversation away from herself again. “Harrison must have been a pretty great boss if people think as highly of him as you claim.”

“Definitely. I mean, he could be a little, how do I put it…”

“Prickly? Sarcastic? Arrogant?” Caitlin didn’t even attempt to hide the affection in her tone – mostly because she didn’t think she could have if she’d tried.

Mierra merely laughed, surprise in her eyes. “All of that, yes. But it was because he had so much to take care of all the time, no one really faulted him for it. He’d do anything for his employees, that’s why he was loved, no matter if he was…difficult at times.”

“Yeah, I know,” Caitlin murmured, then cleared her throat. “I mean, I’ve read that about him. And…I know someone like that.”

“You know someone like that?” Mierra repeated, eyes sharper than they had been for the entire exchange so far. “Or you _love_ someone like that?”

“Uh…both,” Caitlin admitted, laughing slightly.

“Don’t we all?” Mierra sighed, staring off into space. After a moment, she seemed to remember that she had a job she was supposed to be doing, and pointed Caitlin toward a row of a dozen screens that played the video message Harry had recorded before he left. It was a permanent greeting to any visitor who chose to listen to it, and a few people at the screens were maybe halfway through his short message. “Want to hear a brief history in his own words?” Mierra asked.

Caitlin nodded and accepted a disposable earpiece from the girl, who pressed a button on the wall at the nearest screen. Harrison Wells instantly appeared and Caitlin had to smile at him. In the five minute video, he talked about the history of S.T.A.R. Labs, what inspired him to found it, and what he hoped it would do for everyone who had the chance to visit. The video more or less confirmed her thoughts from today: that this place was the manifestation of his life’s dream, and what he wanted, more than anything, was to share it – and its innovations – with the world. She found herself filled with an overwhelming sense of amazement at everything he’d accomplished in his life. (And that was just _so far._ )

At the end, he announced his retirement, but promised he’d still watch over the place and that he hoped it would live on for generations after him. It was surreal for Caitlin to watch that last part, to know that in this timeline, he’d been thinking of _her_ as he said he was ‘retiring’. That she’d been most of the reason he’d _wanted_ to leave.

When the video ended, she tossed the earpiece into a container nearby to be recycled and saw Mierra helping a teenager a couple screens down. Upon seeing she was done, the girl returned. “You can tell he really loves this place, can’t you?” Mierra asked.

“That was overwhelmingly clear.”

“It must have been something truly astonishing that got him to leave.”

Caitlin wasn’t so sure about that, but she nodded in agreement anyways.

“Maybe it was his wife, or the appeal of living in Europe, or…”

“What?” Caitlin was intrigued at what the girl had stopped herself from saying.

“There are a few theories floating around that he didn’t technically retire, but that he went off on some secret project, whether for the U.S. or a foreign government. Does his wife even exist? As I said, no one’s met her. Maybe she’s actually a foreign agent who recruited him? Maybe she’s from _Australia_?” Mierra spoke the last word almost as if she were scandalized, then sighed somewhat romantically at the implications of it. “Maybe it was all plausible cover to give him a reason to leave. Or maybe she did really exist, and in the course of recruiting him…they fell in love anyways.”

Oh, Harry was going to _love_ hearing that the rumors the boys had been talking about were widespread enough that his employees were sharing them with visitors. As if he needed more reasons to think highly of himself, now she had to tell him that half his staff thought he was some secret government agent? On second thought, maybe she should keep it to herself. And speaking of Harry…

“I should get going,” Caitlin said, reluctant though she was to end the conversation. “I’m supposed to meet…my husband in the Research & Development wing. He won’t be happy if he gets there and I’m nowhere to be found.”

“Just tell him Harrison Wells kept you,” Mierra said brightly, and Caitlin nearly choked trying to hold back her laughter. “I’m guessing your husband’s a big fan of him if he wants to meet you at R&D. Most of those projects were started by Dr. Wells himself.”

“Trust me,” Caitlin said, trying to keep a straight face and having no _idea_ if she even came close. “When it comes to my husband, _no one’s_ a bigger fan of Harrison Wells.”

**XXXXXX**

Despite her (true) excuse to Mierra about needing to leave, it still took Caitlin another half hour before she reached R&D. She was just too distracted by, well, _everything_ in this S.T.A.R. Labs. She stopped at too many displays telling herself it would only be ‘for a second’ and then five minutes later she’d snap out of it and realize she had to get moving.

For all intents and purposes then, it really was amazing that she managed to make the five minute walk in a half hour. If she weren’t continuously reminding herself to move, she could have spent five or six hours in that building, easily. They were definitely coming back here and she was thinking they should make it a regular thing. And maybe that would help alleviate some of the guilt that had been building in her since she’d realized what, exactly, he’d left behind.

Sometimes, Caitlin thought she’d give anything to be able to pose even a single question to her previous self.

(Was this why she’d never visited Earth-2 with him before? Had she felt this same guilt? Had she somehow known that he’d traded one love for another – and if so, how had she dealt with it?)

When she finally arrived at the R&D wing, she was relieved that Harry wasn’t there yet. She didn’t want him to worry that she’d gotten lost. (Though knowing him, he’d probably have mobilized his entire staff to find her if he’d thought that was the case.)

There were fewer visitors in R&D, probably because none of these projects were finished yet. Everything down here was non-functional, though all had exhibits about how they would work, in theory, with further advancements in engineering and technology.

She let herself linger for a while at each display, but circling the room didn’t take too long since she couldn’t interact with anything here. Mierra had been right, too – most of the projects had Harry listed as the sole or co-inventor.

Speaking of which – she checked the time, wondering where he was. It had been nearly an hour since she’d left him with Sara.

There were only seven other people in the large room with her, and though it was the most deserted she’d seen any room in the building, it was still seven more than she was used to seeing in this section of the building. At home, this area was always deserted, the entire room empty. _Most_ of S.T.A.R. Labs was empty. She looked down the hall that led to the main research lab itself, which was specifically designed to accommodate dozens of people at once and was ideal for working on projects that needed lots of input from different people.

With nothing else to do except wait, she headed for the research lab, which was partly lined with glass windows that allowed visitors to watch the engineers and technicians working in the front part of the lab. The first thing she noticed was the lack of visitors at the windows, and as she got closer, she could see why – unlike the rest of the building, which was fairly bursting with activity, there was no one in the lab.

There were plenty of workstations that looked to be in various states of chaos, but that was it. It was a little late for lunch, so maybe the department had been called to a meeting? She tried the door out of habit, mouth turning down in annoyance when she found it was locked. She took a few steps away and pulled out her phone, about to text Harry, when she saw that she had no service.

Right. She didn’t pay a phone bill on this Earth. The cell towers wouldn’t recognize her phone.

She tapped it against her palm, irritated. She wondered if she should go back upstairs to look for Harry, but that was when a young man in a lab coat rushed by her, swiping his key card and heading into the research lab in a frenetic hurry.

She didn’t even think about it, lunging over to stick her foot in the door before it locked behind him. She waited maybe ten seconds before carefully pulling the door open again. It was an odd sensation, to feel the thrill of doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing, while also arguing to herself that at home she had unlimited access to the building – even _owned_ part of it – so shouldn’t it be the same here?

_But this isn’t your S.T.A.R. Labs, Caitlin_.

“It’s close enough,” she hissed under her breath, annoyed that she was fighting with herself.

The research lab was enormous and had workstations everywhere for all of the technicians and engineers. There were also slightly smaller rooms off of the main lab, specialty areas and other stations where people could collaborate and work more easily on things together. Luckily, she didn’t see the tech she'd followed anywhere, and there were numerous places he could have disappeared to.

It had always struck her as unnerving, in her own timeline, to visit Harry when he was working down here. It was so empty, had always felt so incredibly lonely. She suspected he felt that way, too, since he tended to work on things in his own lab, closer to the cortex, but there were certain things that he _had_ to do in this particular lab.

She’d made it a point to trail along after him and keep him company down here when she knew there was a project he couldn’t do anywhere else. She’d always insisted she had certain things she needed to do here, too – _Yes, Harry, coincidentally enough at the same time as you, what of it?_

He’d never believed her, but he’d always pretended like he did.

Without consciously thinking about it, she moved deeper into the lab, toward the station Harry used at home. Rather than covered with the supplies from his recent projects, there were a bunch of things she didn’t recognize. One looked mostly like a normal pistol and she carefully picked it up, checking it – there were no rounds and no firing pin, which probably explained why it was unsecured. From what she could determine, it looked like the engineer was trying to merge a regular weapon with a new technological component. A new method of firing? An electronic failsafe?

“What are you doing?”

She startled, badly, at the new voice and took a step back, clutching the item in her hand tighter.

The young man across the room in the white S.T.A.R. Labs coat held up his hands. “Whoa, I don’t want any trouble!”

Caitlin looked down, eyes widening in horror as she realized she was inadvertently pointing the device at him and she quickly set it back on the counter. “It’s not what it looks like. That gun doesn’t fire, I checked. It’s harmless.”

“Nothing in this lab is harmless,” he said warily. “How’d you get in here? Who are you?”

If there was ever a time to use her ‘get out of jail free’ card… “I’m Caitlin, the wife of Harrison Wells.”

That card didn’t work as well as she’d hoped, because she could immediately tell he didn’t believe her. “How stupid do you think I am?” he demanded. “Harrison Wells and his wife live in Europe and she’s never been here.” He appeared to think better of challenging her when she was a few feet from a weapon, harmless though it was (and admittedly, he might not know that since he didn’t seem to believe anything she said). “Again, I don’t want any trouble. I’m going to back toward the door and –”

She took a step away from the workstation, hoping the move would put him at ease even though the weapon she’d been holding wasn’t any more dangerous than a paperweight, at the moment. “I should go. I’ll get Harry and he can confirm my story and we’ll all laugh about it.”

No sooner had she spoken than the door to the lab opened and two security guards rushed in, scanning the room, their eyes stopping on her. _Oh, great_.

One of them turned to the employee and the other pointed at her. “Ma’am, step over here. Slowly.”

“I’m not –”

“Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

“She broke in here and she was trying to steal that prototype,” the tech was accusing her. “I got to the silent alarm without her noticing.”

“Good job, Eric,” one of the guards told him, as the aforementioned Eric started talking him through what had happened that led to him finding her in the research lab.

“I’m not trying to steal anything,” Caitlin protested, as she walked over to where the second guard was pointing. “And if I were, I certainly wouldn’t be bad enough at it to get caught this easily. At least, I hope.”

“Is anyone with you?”

“Yes, like I tried to explain to Eric here. My husband is –”

The first guard pressed something in his ear – it must have been his comm – and said to whoever was listening, “Be advised, second suspect in the building, issue a Class C lockdown. And tell Evans to review the security camera footage, hopefully we’ll find him quickly.”

Caitlin tried, very hard, to fight back her frustration at them blatantly ignoring her. “I can tell you where to find him – he’s Harrison Wells and he’s currently somewhere in this building with Sara Lance. Your CEO, remember?”

The two guards stared at her, as disbelieving as the tech had been.

“ _Told_ you she was crazy,” Eric said, like her words proved his version of the story.

“It’s all Harry’s fault, really,” Caitlin sighed. “If he’d shown up when he was supposed to, this wouldn’t be happening.”

“You’re going to have to come with us,” one of the guards said, pulling out handcuffs, and Caitlin felt an irrational chill run all the way through her. These people were no danger to her, it would only be temporary, and they thought they needed to protect themselves from her. And yet…

“You’ve _got_ to be kidding me,” she said. “You don’t have any right to put those on me.”

“We’re legally allowed to detain you until the police arrive,” the first guard said, taking hold of her arm, and when she wrenched it away, he froze. “Especially since you threatened one of our techs with a weapon.”

She didn’t like it, but the last thing she needed was to get into an actual altercation with them. She reluctantly held her wrists out in front of her and the second guard secured her hands with the cuffs. When she felt them on her skin, she realized they weren’t metal, but some kind of high-tech polymer. They snapped securely into place without any lock that she could see. “Usually, I at least get dinner first,” she said, trying to ease her growing anxiety with an old quip, but neither of them so much as reacted.

“Tough crowd,” she grumbled, then held her wrists up to try and examine the restraints more closely. “Wow, these are cool, how do they work?”

Neither of the guards answered her. In fact, she was pretty sure they were rolling their eyes at her as they ushered her out of the room, one on each side of her (like she was still dangerous to them – and was it strange that fact made her a little proud?). They led her towards security, which was another area in disuse back at home, but she knew it was down a back hallway and up a flight of stairs, adjacent to the main lobby.

She knew there was no point in arguing anymore. She wasn’t getting out of this on her own, so she’d just follow along with their instructions and wait for Harry to show up. Hopefully he didn’t take his goddamn time, like he had been so far.

“He’s not going to be happy,” Caitlin was muttering to herself, and the first guard overheard her.

“What was that, ma’am? Are you saying your husband is a threat to us?”

“Hardly,” she sighed, in defeat. “I meant that he’s not going to be happy with _me_.”

**XXXXXX**

The security office was about the size of a police precinct’s main room and there were a handful of security guards at desks, watching various monitors. People came in and out regularly – if she had somehow woken up in this room, she’d have been convinced she was in one of the police stations around Central City. The only thing that gave it away, really, was that the men and women working there wore S.T.A.R. Labs security uniforms instead of CCPD uniforms.

“Is this really necessary?” Caitlin tugged on her wrist – she’d had a brief flare of hope when she’d arrived that they were going to take the cuffs off, but instead, they’d merely removed one and attached the other to a metal bar along the wall. At least the chairs here were comfortable, nothing like the hard plastic chairs she’d find in a real police station. They were actually appealing enough that she was ready to kick back and take a nap…except for the whole ‘handcuffed to a metal bar’ thing. She supposed it was better than being detained in an office or some kind of cell – then she’d be having a _real_ problem trying not to panic (and it was already hard enough as it was).

The two guards who’d brought her in had left and she was now sitting in an area across from a third security officer who’d apparently drawn the short stick of watching her.

“Ma’am,” he began, “the item you had in your possession is worth approximately $500,000 and –”

“What?!” She was floored. “Maybe I _should_ have stolen the damn thing.”

“You _did_ steal it,” the officer (whose name tag read ‘Markson’) reminded her.

“No, that was an accident. I meant maybe I should have stolen it for _real_.”

He held up the prototype which was now in an evidence bag on his desk. “Are you admitting to stealing this device?”

“No!” she groaned. It was like no one on this planet ever _listened_. “I’m telling you, I’m married to Harrison Wells. Your founder? Ring any bells?” He just stared at her, clearly not believing it. “I’m Caitlin Snow.”

“Caitlin _Snow_?”

“I mean Caitlin _Wells_.”

“Uh huh. Convenient you forgot your last name for a second there.”

“It’s – I’m not used to – ugh.” She slumped down further in the seat, and when the move caused her wrist to pull against the handcuffs, she glared at them like the depth of her frustration might burn through them and release her. Then she pulled as hard as she could because the pain, paradoxically, helped her focus and maintain control of herself.

“What are you doing?” Markson asked, with mild alarm. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

She ignored him; there was no point in telling him she was already hurting.

Being unable to get out of her current predicament was dredging up vastly unwelcome memories, both from her time with Zolomon and the multitude of nightmares she’d had since then. She was trying extremely hard to bury the feelings, though she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to do so.

She was tempted to keep pulling at the cuffs, but Markson looked like he was about to panic and she realized, then, how young the guard actually was. He was probably only in his early 20’s, and clearly worried about her state of mind and how to handle it. She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and when he saw that she had calmed somewhat, he relaxed.

“Since the device is worth so much and covered by several dozen proprietary patents,” Markson explained, “we have a right to hold you until such a time as we contact the police. The only reason I haven’t done that yet is because my colleague told me he saw Harrison Wells earlier. It’s got to be some astronomical coincidence that he’d be here while you were trying to rob the place, so once we get him to confirm that he doesn’t know you –”

“It’s not a coincidence,” she said, exasperated. “Think about it. Isn’t it far more likely we’re here together?”

“No, it’s not. He’s never come here with his wife. In fact, he’s said she has no interest in visiting S.T.A.R. Labs.” He sat back in the chair at the desk opposite her. “As such, it seems far more likely to me that perhaps you’re stalking our founder. Maybe you followed him here, hoping to use the distraction of his visit to wipe out our lab.”

“For such a genius thief as you’re painting me out to be, I sure am terrible at it, aren’t I?”

“I never said you were a genius,” he shot back. “There are anti-theft features on all our prototypes, by the way. You’d never have gotten away.”

She let her head fall back to the wall with a thud, wondering if she should take that nap after all.

“It’d be easier on you if you gave up your accomplice instead of making us search through security footage to find who you were here with.”

“I’ll gladly give him up. He’s Harrison Wells.”

Markson shifted uneasily in his chair, and she wondered if he was beginning to second guess himself and the other guards who’d brought her in. Or maybe he was worried she was so wrapped up in her delusion that she genuinely believed what she was saying while he ‘knew’ it wasn’t true.

“Let me help you,” Markson implored. “It’ll be a lot easier if you’re honest with me. What was your accomplice wearing? What does he look like?”

“Fine,” she sighed, “I’ll come clean.” Markson picked up a pen and motioned for her to continue. “He looks _exactly_ like…Harrison Wells.”

He gave up, throwing his pen onto the desk, and Caitlin shut her eyes. It was only a minute later that Harry’s voice had her snapping them open again.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

“I can explain,” she tried, hating how guilty her voice sounded when she hadn’t even done anything wrong. Aside from breaking into the lab. And playing around with the projects. Okay, and unintentionally pointing that gun at the poor lab tech. But other than that…

Markson had jumped to his feet at Harry’s arrival, clearly shocked to see their founder right in front of him. “Sir, thank you for coming down here. This woman claims she knows you.”

Harry ran a hand over his eyes, like he needed to think. “She seems vaguely familiar. Give me a minute.”

“Harry,” she grit out.

“I can have Central City PD here in two minutes, sir.”

“Two minutes?” Harry seemed unimpressed. “Has their response time gotten slower? There’s a station practically across the street.”

“Harry,” Caitlin threatened again, trying to infuse as much warning into her voice as possible.

“Dr. Wells, this woman was found in the restricted lab in Research & Development, presumably looking to steal some of our prototypes. She had in her possession an almost-completed laser gun worth half a million dollars.”

Harry whistled at the price tag. “Half a million? That’s a nice score.”

“Harrison!” she yelled, when he still didn’t vouch for her.

He finally dropped the act and laughed. “Yes, this criminal you so easily caught is my wife.” He turned toward her, _finally_ noticing that she was handcuffed to the wall. His expression changed instantaneously and she could see the worry in his eyes – because of course he knew. But he wasn’t going to say anything that might embarrass her. Instead, he turned back to Markson, voice dropping to something very much near deadly. “You _handcuffed_ her?”

The other man didn’t miss the threat in the question and was rapidly going through his top desk drawer. “She brandished a weapon at one of the lab techs, sir,” Markson was speaking unnaturally fast as he struggled to find the handcuff key. “We considered that as presenting a reasonable danger to staff and visitors. And you’ve said in the past that your wife would never visit here, so when she claimed to be her, we assumed she was…delusional.”

He finally found the key, but it wasn’t a regular key, it was a small device that he held to the edge of the cuffs, causing them to open and free her. She rubbed her wrist, which was slightly red from her pulling at the restraints. Harry’s gaze lingered there, but he said nothing.

“I’d like to point out,” Caitlin said shakily, “how extremely annoyed I am that those handcuffs have no lock to pick.” Her attempt at a joke didn’t help anything, but hey, she’d tried.

“They’re magnetic,” Markson explained. “Proprietary.” He turned back to Harry, timidly, and Caitlin could easily read his fear – he expected to be fired on the spot. Or worse. “Sir, we followed protocol. It obviously…wasn’t the right call. I apologize. Profusely. To both of you.”

Harry still said nothing.

“It’s okay,” she said, taking pity on the young security guard.

“It’s not okay,” Harry said abruptly, but what she heard (what he _meant_ ) was, _You’re not okay_.

“No, it’s not okay,” she relented. “But it’s not his fault, either.”

Harry clearly didn’t believe that, and though he projected an effortless outward calm, she knew that inside he was seething; she could see it in his eyes. She could also see that he was deeply concerned for her.

Caitlin motioned for Markson to return to his desk, which he quickly did, giving them some space.

Harry closed the distance between them. “Caitlin,” he said, voice low, “I know. I know you’re not okay.”

She minutely shook her head in confirmation, whispering, “No. Not yet.” She found it appalling that now was the moment she felt like she was going to start crying. He must have known what she meant from her tone, or her words. (Or maybe just because he _knew her_.)

He circled her wrist with his hand, pulling her closer, then lifted it so he could examine it and make sure she was uninjured. He pressed a kiss to her wrist, right below her palm, and she inhaled shakily, then let it go.

She tried to let everything else go with it.

She was pulled to him, sometimes she swore it was like gravity, and he shifted to put his arms around her before she could even press herself closer to him. She ducked her head against him, discreetly wiping at her eyes. She didn’t want to fall apart here, in the security office of S.T.A.R. Labs, with a dozen people milling around and watching them while trying to seem like they weren’t. (And Markson sitting at the nearby desk with his head in his hands, like he was waiting for an axe to fall.) No, she didn’t want to fall apart, but she knew from the way Harry was holding her that it’d be okay if she did.

But she didn’t fall apart. She didn’t because of _him_.

She was _okay_ because of him.

“Better?” he whispered, into her hair.

“Better,” she agreed, briefly shutting her eyes.

“I can’t believe we’ve been here not even two hours and you got yourself arrested,” he said, to the top of her head, and she heard his somewhat weary amusement.

“Not arrested,” she huffed. “ _Detained_.” And wait a minute… “Technically it was because of you. You showed up late!”

“Sorry, I lost track of time with Sara, and then on the way to R&D, people kept stopping me – it’s like I can’t get away from them, Snow – and then they went into lockdown. Didn’t realize that was you at first, of course.” His voice had become more strangled, and he tightened his arms around her. “Though when I thought something dangerous had happened and didn’t know where you were…”

She turned her head to the side; she could hear his heart that way. “It’s okay,” she repeated, with emphasis, then tried to lighten the mood, “Honestly, Harry. You should have known it was me.”

“If I had brought literally _anyone else_ from our team with me today, I would have thought it was them. For some reason, I assumed you’d have more sense than to get yourself entangled in something like this.”

“You should know better about that, too,” she echoed. “I married you, didn’t I?”

“Ha ha.” He playfully pinched her side, which made her laugh. “The joke that never gets old.”

He must have taken her laughter as a sign she was fine enough for him to address why they were there, and when he turned to face Markson, his mood instantly shifted again. “I’m not happy about what happened today.”

Markson had been watching them like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing from his former boss. “Uh, sir, again, I deeply apologize. On behalf of my colleagues, as well.”

Caitlin knew the apology meant almost nothing to Harry, not when he’d been so upset (or more accurately, seen _her_ so upset). She jumped in before Harry could say anything he’d regret. “They were just doing their job, Harry.” She didn’t want him to take out _her_ pain on someone who held no fault in it. “No harm done.” When Harry didn’t respond to that, she reached up to turn his face back to hers and away from the younger man. “He’s a good guy. He was worried about me.”

“That’s true!” Markson interrupted. “I _was_ worried. I also thought she was crazy, which, who could really blame me, but still.”

“Not helping,” Caitlin hissed at him, before facing Harry again. “He did what he was supposed to do. He’s looking out for this place. That’s what you want your security to do.”

“You did say she would never visit,” Markson repeated, hesitantly. “I guess I also expected your wife to be…uh…older?” When Harry turned to face him, Markson leapt to his feet. “I’m going to stop talking now.”

“Good call,” Harry said slowly, and when he looked at Caitlin again, his expression had eased somewhat, anger fading. “Okay,” he said easily, “I trust your judgement.”

“As you should,” she said primly, causing him to smile. (Which was maybe becoming one of her favorite things: how easily she could make him smile, especially when he was upset.)

“Something confused me, though,” he was saying. “They said you had a _weapon_?”

“It wasn’t a weapon,” she defended herself, as Markson loudly cleared his throat. “Alright, it was _technically_ a weapon. It was that prototype.” She pointed to the desk. “Any ‘brandishing’ was accidental when I was surprised, but I checked the gun when I picked it up to make sure it was safe.”

Harry went to take it out of the bag and examine it himself. “She’s right,” he told Markson. “It can’t fire. Which you must know.”

“In defense of the tech she pointed it at, he didn’t know that at the time,” Markson said carefully, probably unconvinced that Harry was willing to let everything go as easily as he’d claimed.

“Lift the lockdown,” Harry said, tossing the empty evidence bag at Markson who fumbled to catch it. “I’ll bring the gun back to R&D.” He turned to Caitlin, reminding her, “I still need to get the supplies I came for.”

“It’s a perfect time to visit R&D, sir,” Markson told him. “The entire staff is at a mandatory meeting for at least another hour.” He glanced at Caitlin, adding, “Again, Mrs. Wells, I’m very sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“It’s fine,” she said, reaching out to shake his hand. “I appreciate your professionalism. And…I suppose I share some of the blame.”

Harry called her on that with a look, scoffing, “You _suppose_ you share _some_ of the blame.”

“Fine, most of the blame,” she said, irritated, as they left the security office. “I shouldn’t have even tried to get into the lab, but again, I was bored because _you_ were late. I couldn’t resist!”

“It’s a good thing we don’t employ you for corporate espionage, Snow. You wouldn’t last a day. Or rather, two hours.” He brushed his hand against hers. “Again, I’m sorry that I got caught up with Sara. I should have been down there long ago.”

“Not everything’s your fault,” Caitlin said, leaning against him. “Speaking of Sara, does she have a slight southern accent? Are accents even the same on this Earth?”

“Yes, accents are very similar here, mostly indistinguishable from Earth-1 when it comes to the various countries and regions. On this Earth, Sara’s father was in the military and she grew up mostly in the South, hence the slightly lingering drawl.”

“She grew up in the South, yet she ended up back here, in Central City?”

“The more I’ve seen and learned over the years, the more I’m convinced that most of the time, people end up where they’re supposed to be.”

_Yeah, she was beginning to think that, too._

“Does she know?” Caitlin asked, and upon his questioning look, she explained, “Sara, from back home. Does she know that she’s your CEO here?”

“She does, but only the general overview of things. We never had any opportunity to discuss it in specific detail, nor am I aware if she’d even want to know more.”

“Who’s she married to?”

Harry’s look meant she needn’t have bothered asking. “Same man as on our Earth. And he’s a detective with the CCPD. I think he has the same position Joe does back home.”

Caitlin abruptly started laughing, and when Harry didn’t join in, she quickly stopped. “Leonard Snart is _not_ a police detective. You’re making that up. Please tell me that you’ve mentioned that to him back home.”

“I did, once. He recoiled in horror and then pretty much ran away from me. I felt bad after the fact, because I didn’t know about his own father and – well, here it was all different, you see. His father was a cop here, too, but not corrupt. He only recently retired, in fact, after a long and distinguished career. Leonard followed in his father’s footsteps, joining the police, and ended up working with Quentin Lance some years back on a serial murder case with victims both here and in Star City…”

“And met Sara through him,” Caitlin filled in the blanks, feeling a momentary pang for the Leonard on her Earth. “It’s amazing,” she murmured, “the things that can completely change the course of our lives.”

Harry was nodding. “Lewis Snart’s choices here meant that both of his children went into a life of public service. His daughter’s the mayor, in fact. There are far-reaching consequences to everything we do, Snow. Our choices, our lives, luck, fate…they affect not only us, but everyone and everything around us. Something that seems small and insignificant can end up having immense repercussions on the world. On a life.”

His eyes had taken on a slightly faraway look, and she had to ask, “What are you thinking of?”

“One of those moments for me. The first time I walked into S.T.A.R. Labs and saw you.”

“No way,” she protested. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I swear, it’s like some part of me did.” He was shaking his head at the memories. “You people really hated me. And that was before you knew why you _should_ have hated me.”

“We should never have hated you.”

“That’s sweet, but yes you should have. It was justified. I’m just grateful you all forgave me.”

“It’s funny that even with some drastic changes, certain things still stayed so much the same,” she said, thoughtfully. “Despite leading completely different lives, Leonard and Sara still found each other here. Just like back home.”

“Just like back home,” he repeated, as they arrived at the main research lab.

Harry swiped his key card and they entered, surprised to find a few engineers there. When they saw Harry, they excitedly greeted him, explaining that they were gathering some materials they’d forgotten to bring to the meeting. They filled him in on a bunch of their newest innovations before he managed to send them on their way. (Caitlin inwardly cringed, thinking that soon enough they’d hear all about what had happened with her in this very room.)

She knew Harry was supposed to be looking for various materials for his project back home, but he’d gotten distracted when he went to put the gun back and was now examining the prototype.

“In the original timeline, I used to come down here with you some nights.” She ran a hand along the metal counter near her. “Because I knew it was lonely down here.” She still did, in fact, though not as often since the timeline had changed because he hadn’t used this lab as much recently.

“Yes, it was lonely.” He graced her with a smile. “Before you.”

She was surprised. “You remember? I mean…we did that in this timeline, too?”

“Sure did. You were always down here – well, on our Earth – when I was. And no other time.” There was a unique light in his eyes when he added, “Coincidentally enough.”

_Coincidentally enough_. That was what she’d told him every time he’d asked – it had gotten to almost be a game between them. They’d done it here, too.

_They’d done it here, too._

Why did that make her want to cry? She studied him, seeing him suddenly as the Harrison Wells from her own timeline – not that there was much difference between the two versions of him. But to know he had those same memories despite the changes, to know that they’d done the same things here…

“What are you thinking?” he asked, carefully.

“Sometimes, when we come across similar memories like this, I’m just…” Overwhelmed? Grateful? _Happy_? “I’m so glad you came with me. _You_.”

“Came with you where?” he asked, not quite following.

“To this life. The one we have together, now.” She wasn’t sure she was explaining it that well, but she was trying.

“I told you before – I would have found you, no matter the timeline.” He glanced up from where he’d completely disassembled the laser gun – of course. “Even if things hadn’t changed, Caitlin. In fact, it’s been a few months…we might have been just beginning.”

“Kind of like we are now,” she whispered.

“ _Just_ like we are now,” he agreed, warmly. “Well, second time for me.”

She winced, realizing too late that her words might have been hurtful. “Sorry, I didn’t –”

“No, stop.” He pointed a wrench at her. “You don’t remember, but I’m enjoying this process of getting to know each other, of dating – which we’ve really been slacking on, by the way – as much as I did the first time around.”

“Okay, good.” She glanced at what looked like a hundred pieces of the prototype scattered in front of Harry. “Do you know how to put that back together?”

“Please,” he scoffed.

“So…no?”

“Uh…given a few days I could probably –”

“We don’t have a few days,” she pointed out.

“Perhaps I could speed it along.” He fit a small piece into a bigger section and froze when, somehow, both components snapped in half. “What kinds of shoddy materials are they using here, nowadays?”

“Yeah, it’s the materials.”

He was trying to fit two broken parts back together. “Some glue will fix this. Probably.”

“Are you _sure_ you’re the best engineer at S.T.A.R. Labs?”

“It’s as much of an art as it is a science,” he argued, then gave up and dropped the broken pieces back to the counter. “I’ll just…leave those there.”

“Solid plan.”

They stared at the complete disarray he’d turned the workstation into, and then he shrugged. “Eh, I’ll tell them it was you. They’ve already seen you have criminal tendencies.”

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Harry.”

“Who are they going to believe? Me, their distinguished, and dare I say, revered founder. Or you?” He flicked a glance her way. “The delinquent I happened to marry.”

“ _Harrison_.”

“Fine!” He threw his hands up in defeat. “I’ll tell the truth. They’re not going to be very happy with me. Good thing I can buy people off.”

“Even better plan. You got half a million lying around? And I’m surprised such a valuable prototype was lying out, anyways. Markson mentioned anti-theft features, but it seems like it still should have been locked up.”

“No need for this particular prototype,” he said, holding up one of the larger components so she could see the way it shimmered various shades of green in the light. “Every part of it has this same coating. It sets off an alarm if anyone takes any piece out of the building.”

“You developed an anti-theft coating that doesn’t interfere with the the gun itself?”

He spread his arms out in a ‘ _Do you really have to ask me that?’_ manner.

“Right, right. You’re a genius.” She gave the workstation a slight kick. “Who can’t put that gun back together.”

“I could with more time,” he said, and she swore he was on the verge of whining. “Besides, I only hire the best, so I’m sure this’ll be no problem for them.” He rested his elbows on the counter, folding his hands and setting his chin on them as he looked around the room, almost wistfully. She guessed that he probably missed seeing it this way when it was always so empty back home. “I knew what you were doing, by the way.”

She leaned her hip against the workstation. “Huh?”

“Every time you joined me down here,” he clarified, as she realized he’d switched back to their previous topic. “I knew then, and I know why you still do it.” The way he was watching her confirmed that he’d known her motives the entire time.

“You never called me on it,” she said, a little curious as to his reasons. “You’d joke, but you never said anything…serious.”

“I never wanted to take the chance that you might get embarrassed and leave.”

(It always came back to that, didn’t it? That he was always doing everything he could to make her stay.)

“I wouldn’t have left.”

Now he was the one with a lingering question in his eyes.

“Even if you’d called me on it, outright,” she said. “Even if you’d said you knew what I was doing. Those nights we stayed in the lab until all hours…”

She thought back to them, some of her best memories with him from her own time. Working in the lab had been one of the few places they were ever truly alone together back when they’d simply been colleagues and friends. Solving those impossible problems, the sheer excitement of every breakthrough, the way they’d worked so perfectly in tandem, often being the one thing the other needed in order to obtain some previously unreachable insight. She thought about how every time he’d lit up at the joy of a new discovery, that made _her_ light up, too. And she thought about the _fun_ they’d had, all the while.

(He’d always made her laugh this much, hadn’t he? Why hadn’t she seen it?)

It had been an easy lie to tell herself: that she was _only_ doing it for him. That was definitely part of it, but it wasn’t all of it; it was only half of it. Looking back, without any of the barriers she’d set up to protect herself, she could see…

She’d equally been spending time with him for _herself_. Because she’d wanted to. Because she’d always been happy with him – happier, in fact, than when she was alone.

“Did I lose you?” Harry’s words brought her back, like always.

“Never,” she promised, surprised at how rough her voice sounded. When he tilted his head in question, she repeated her words from earlier: “Even if you’d called me on it, I never would have left.”

His answering smile told her that even if he hadn’t known it was true back then, he’d figured it out already.

Long before she had.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am still here! And still definitely planning on finishing this story, even though my updates have slowed down. Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed this story so far, especially those who have let me know, because you really keep me going when I get stuck on certain things. I'm very grateful to everyone still here with me and I hope you continue to enjoy it! <3

Looking back, Caitlin knew that the idea of how to repay Harry had started before they’d even arrived on Earth-2. It had merely been cemented the moment she’d seen the look on his face as he admired his version of S.T.A.R. Labs – the one that had taken him decades to plan and build and nurture until it grew into the amazing place that it was today.

As the afternoon wore on, she saw things even more clearly. She saw how much he loved being there again, saw how much he missed it. Mostly, she saw how much he _needed_ it.

But he hadn’t been able to bring it with him when he’d moved, and when they returned home later today, he’d have to leave it behind. _Again_.

If he’d given it up for her – for everyone – then wasn’t it only fair that they give it back to him? If they could?

(And she was pretty sure they could.)

“Harry,” she began, spreading her arms out to encompass the currently empty R&D laboratory they were standing in, “there should be people here.”

“The engineers and techs are at a meeting upstairs,” he said, confused, as he finally dropped the last pieces of the prototype and went over to one of the storerooms, swiping his key card. “We just heard that. It was _you_ in security with me, right?” His eyes were light when he teased, “Not a doppelganger?”

She realized that in her enthusiasm, and haste, she might have left some minor things out, like…bothering to explain her thought process. She uselessly fiddled with one of the components he’d left on the workstation. “At home, Harry. At home S.T.A.R. Labs should be filled with people.”

“Kind of hard to do with seven employees on my payroll,” he said, vanishing into the storeroom. “Not including myself.”

She stopped for a second, doing the math – her and Cisco, full-time. Barry, Iris, Jesse, and Wally part-time… It was easy to put it together. “You pay HR!” she exclaimed, filled with sudden joy at the knowledge. “I _knew_ you loved him.”

“ _Love_ is a strong word for it,” he called loudly, from deeper in the storeroom. She could hear him rummaging through boxes for what he needed, then there was a sudden crash, followed by him cursing. She got to the doorway in time to see him kick one of the metal shelves in frustration.

“Are you okay?”

“This place is a disaster,” he said, kneeling to pick up the transistors that had spilled from one of the boxes. “Murphy – he’s head of R&D – he’s brilliant, but the man knows _nothing_ about organization. Look at this, Snow, transistors in a box that’s labeled foil. _Foil_!”

“It must have held foil at one point,” she said, as if she’d solved a mystery for him.

He looked at her for a long moment. “You think?”

“Let’s get back to how you think of HR as a brother.”

“I am so close, _so close_ , to leaving you on Earth-2.”

“That’s not a denial,” she goaded.

“Denying such patently false accusations gives them legitimacy,” he argued, as he shoved the box back on the shelf. “HR actually does some work for us, believe it or not. He’s good at persuasion. I send him out to talk to investors when they’re being particularly stubborn.” His expression turned thoughtful. “Somehow he always gets people on my side when I need them to be. In the rare – _rare_ , mind you – instances that I can’t manage it on my own.”

She watched him continue to rummage through boxes. “Since he doesn’t have to hide his face anymore…do you think he pretends to be you?”

That actually got Harry to pause as he slowly turned back to her, eyes widening. “I never thought to ask. Wait, Snow – what if he _is_ going around Central City pretending to be me?” He was truly horrified. “What if people think I’m… _gleeful_?” He said the word with such distaste that she started laughing (and somewhat gleefully herself, at that).

“Have you noticed people treating you differently? Perhaps offering you coffee more than they used to?” Her mind spun with what would torture him the most. “Do they try to hug you as a greeting now?”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, as if the thoughts within him were too awful to speak.

“He’s changing your reputation, Harry. Now, when people speak of Harrison Wells, they might describe you as ‘giddy’ or ‘full of life’ or ‘permanently cheerful’ –”

“Insane! They will call me _insane_.” That only made her laugh harder, and he ran his hands through his hair, which ended up making him look even crazier (and certainly didn’t help his cause). “This isn’t funny,” he insisted, distressed. “I’m talking to him when we get back.”

“No, you are not,” she said firmly. “Let him do whatever magic he does – basically as a favor to you, might I add – and leave him be. He’s harmless. And he loves us.”

“I like how you throw that around all the time.” He reached up for another box and accidentally bumped some other containers, side-stepping at the last second when a canister of gears fell off the top shelf. “As if people loving us absolves them of their evil-doing.”

“HR pretending to be you is not ‘evil’,” she scolded, gently. “If he’s pretending to be you, which we don’t even know for a fact, it’s a means to an end. _Your_ preferred end, might I add. He’s only trying to get done what you want him to get done.”

“ _Maybe_ ,” he said, like the word was spoken entirely against his will, and pulled down another cardboard box, the kind people used when they were moving. “I think I found it.”

She frowned at the handwritten label on the box. “I thought you were looking for rare metals?”

“Right, so why wouldn’t they be in the box that says ‘timers’? I don’t need much, so I’ll only take this one box. I suppose I should neaten up, too. Not that anyone would notice I’d even been here, look at this place.”

Once he was done straightening up, they left the lab, heading back upstairs where Harry still had to give a short talk to his former employees before they left.

“We got distracted by HR,” Caitlin began, as they wound through the familiar (and yet so different) halls of Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs.

“One of his specialties. Somehow even when he’s not present on the same _Earth_ as us.”

“I meant what I said, Harry. This place…we’re doing it wrong.”

He’d led them a back way to the auditorium where he was going to speak ( _briefly_ , he’d stressed). Caitlin hadn’t realized they’d entered through one of the stage doors until she glanced out and saw the empty room filled with hundreds upon hundreds of seats.

He noticed her moment of awe. “It holds a thousand people, which in hindsight is too few for some of the events here. Renovating is on their list of upcoming projects.” He dropped the box near the stage curtains. “What did you mean? What are we doing wrong?”

His question reminded her yet again of what she wanted to tell him – she was far too easily distracted in this place. “Why don’t you do at home what you did here? The infrastructure’s in place, you’ve already repaired the damage from the particle accelerator, our reputation gets better every day, we have investors…why _wouldn’t_ you want to do it?”

“It’s a lot of work, Snow.”

“Which is another reason for my suggestion, Harry.” She couldn’t contain her excitement the more she got into the idea – she could only hope he felt some of the same. (Maybe…maybe if she could get him to do this at home then he’d never harbor any resentment toward her. Not that she truly thought he did right now, but if one day he ever looked back and thought he’d made a mistake… If he ever regretted _anything_ about the life they shared, well, she didn’t know how she’d get through that.) “You do the job of a dozen people already, it’d actually be _easier_ on you if you hired more employees and started delegating. And then hire more to help them, and so on, the more projects we get. It’ll spread from there.”

“I don’t know…”

Some of her enthusiasm dampened at his obvious reluctance. “You love this place. I _see_ it in you.” She stepped closer to him. “You light up here in a way you don’t at our S.T.A.R. Labs. This place is…it’s a living, breathing, wondrous thing. It’s _brilliant_. The people at home should be so lucky to have a place like this they could visit.” When he didn’t reply, she wondered if anything she said was getting through. If she was making a difference. “This place was the fulfillment of your life’s dream, Harrison.”

“Yes,” he murmured, “it was.”

Her face fell and her voice broke a little when she added, “You shouldn’t have had to give it up for _me_.”

His face changed, something very much like fear crossing it. “It was not like that,” he swore, stepping into her personal space. He slid his hands around to the back of her neck, slightly tipping her face up to his. “This place was my dream. It _was_. Then I met you and for the first time in two decades…”

She waited, but he wasn’t speaking. “What, Harry?”

“I started having a different dream.”

For such a large room, it seemed like there wasn’t enough air. “Of…me?”

“Yes, you. _Always_ you, first.” He shut his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze again. “But I also found myself dreaming of…a different life. Something more than putting everything I had into a career and going home alone at night because there was no one, aside from Jesse, that I could stand being with for more than a day at a time.”

He let his hands fall away, sliding down her arms to her wrists, and looked out over the auditorium where people had started filing in. A moment later, he turned back to her. “I loved it here and at one time, I would have told you, told anyone I met, that I’d _never_ leave it. But things change. Deciding to move…it wasn’t only about you. I saw a need for me on Earth-1 that I no longer felt here. This place runs fine without me, as you saw today.”

“That’s thanks _to_ you,” she pointed out, as he smiled in return.

“And the challenge of fixing the problems you people had? _Numerous_ as they were…I liked the idea of that, of being needed somewhere again. Truly needed. And then Jesse wanted to be with Wally.” He shut his eyes, sighing. “I have to admit, Snow, after a little while on Earth-1…suddenly there were more people that I could not only stand to be around, but _wanted_ to be around.”

It took a few seconds for that to register. “You mean our team. Our _entire_ team.”

“Minus a select few!” he quickly clarified.

“Uh huh, sure.”

“You were first,” he said, dropping his humorous tone. “The others followed from there. I stopped missing Earth-2 when I left, and started missing Earth-1 when I was here. The idea of moving stopped being about what I might leave behind, and became about what I was moving toward. One day, I was here, up in my office, staring at the door and missing Earth-1, even though I’d _just_ left it that day. In that moment, I suddenly _knew_ my job here was done.” He moved closer to her, enough that she had to tip her head back even further to look up at him. “I have a job I love, with people I love. I have you, whom I love more than…”

“Harry…” she said, when he didn’t elaborate.

He sighed, pressing a hand to the side of her face. “I have a home with you, and soon our child. No matter what form our relationship takes, my life is infinitely better with you in it. If I had to start over, I’d make every choice the same. I’d do it _all_ again.”

“Even knowing…” she tried to keep her voice even, “that I’d forget –”

“I’d do it all again,” he repeated, vehemently. “I'd do it _a thousand times again._ And I often think that I have, across the multi-verse.”

She had to take a minute to make sure she stayed composed. She could hear the murmuring of the audience talking amongst themselves, but she couldn’t take her eyes away from him.

She’d been so hesitant about _everything_ that had to do with her feelings. She loved him so much, but where was the line? Between loving him as a best friend and falling in love with him as her husband?

She’d never been sure if she could trust what she felt, never known what was real and what wasn’t. She’d had to navigate her own emotional turmoil while being careful of his open feelings for her, since she’d known she could hurt him far too easily, without meaning to (maybe without even noticing).

Perhaps most confusing of all was that she’d thought she’d _known_ what it was like to be in love. She’d thought she had it with Ronnie – and maybe she had – but her feelings for Harry weren’t the same. They were too different to even be labeled ‘close’. Ronnie had burned sharp and hot and bright and her love for him had burst into flame nearly overnight, early on when they’d been dating. Then, their story had been cruelly extinguished, before it ever settled into anything more.

But with Harry, that had never happened. She’d been thrown head first into the deep end of a pool with virtually no ability to swim. She’d ‘woken up’ married and expecting a child, with a life both so similar and so different to what she’d known before, and she’d struggled to even keep her head above water. She’d been repeatedly ‘reminded’ by everyone that she was in love with him – but being told to ‘remember’ how she felt was as useless as telling a drowning person to ‘remember’ how to swim.

If it had been anyone else with her, Caitlin knew she would have drowned – even if they’d managed to keep her afloat for a little while first. But Harry had no interest in keeping her afloat for the rest of her life – he pulled her out of the water, back to solid ground. Then he’d _showed_ her that she knew how to swim. And told her it was her decision whether or not she wanted to try again.

They’d started as friends – in both timelines – who cared about each other deeply. Similar passions and interests and goals – and every day it seemed she felt that slightly more. A growing need and want in her that meant, sometimes, when she looked at him, she thought… _Even if I theoretically_ could _live this life with another person, I don’t ever_ want _to._

How could she tell him any of that? Where would she even _begin_?

Certainly not here, on a stage, in front of a few hundred people who were just about done settling into their seats and who expected him to start talking any minute.

“I believe you,” she finally said, deciding to purposely steer clear of any talk of feelings just then. “I believe everything you said. And I only want you to be happy in return. I know you are, mostly, but there’s a type of joy in you, in this building, that I don’t see when we’re at work back home. I know you don’t have to regret leaving in order to miss this place, to be disappointed that you couldn’t bring it with you.” She hoped his solemn expression meant that he was considering what she said. “So rebuild it at home. Do there what you did with your S.T.A.R. Labs here.”

“That’s the thing, Caitlin… It’s not mine.”

“What isn’t?”

“S.T.A.R. Labs at home. It’s not _mine_. I didn’t found that one, even though I talk about it like I did…even though it _feels_ like I did. It’s not my… It’s not my place to do anything with it the way I did here. It belongs to all of us, and technically Barry more than most. I might have fixed it as a failing business and I might run it now, but it will never belong to me the way this place does.”

“Then make it yours,” she whispered. “We wouldn’t mind if you did. In fact, I bet you anything, the others would support the idea as much as I do. After everything you’ve given us…this is something we could give back to you.”

She saw, then, a spark of hope in him – and the beginning of a belief in what she’d said. “Do you think?”

Her words didn’t waver: “I don't think. I _know_.”

“I’d have to talk to everyone about it, seriously. Make sure they were all on board. But if they were…” The wheels were already turning in his head and Caitlin could feel a new lightness spreading through her. If she could do this for him, it might start to make up for everything he’d done for her. For all of them, really. “You’re right that the pieces are in place already. We just might be able to pull it off.”

“ _We_ might?”

“You’re the one who suggested it. Therefore, you would, of course, have to do the majority of the work.”

“Gee, that sounds fair.”

“Gotta earn your keep, Snow. I can’t give you a free ride forever.”

“Your jokes are ludicrous considering how much money I have.”

“Damn it, I need to find some other way to keep you with me, I guess.”

“We’re going to have a baby. Is that not enough?”

“Oh right,” he said, like he’d forgotten. “Guess I’m good for a while then.”

“In all honesty, you know I’d help you with S.T.A.R. Labs. We all would.”

“I know,” he said, “I never doubted that.”

“We could come back here more often, too. You could make these trips a regular thing.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “Not too often, though. They’ll start relying on me again. Running one S.T.A.R. Labs is more than enough. Remember that at home I have to deal with Allen _and_ Ramon. Each of them takes me the same amount of work as overseeing ten people on this Earth.”

Someone cleared their throat, and in a replay of earlier in the hall, they turned to find Sara standing there, waiting patiently. “I don’t want to interrupt, but considering you’re on stage in front of a few hundred people…”

Sara tossed him a microphone before going to sit in the front row of the auditorium. Caitlin backed up a few feet, trying to ensure she wasn’t in the way.

Harry switched the microphone on and deafening feedback had everyone wincing. “Come on, we can’t do better than that at S.T.A.R. Labs?” he asked, in the general direction of the sound booth. He turned to motion to the audience. “I _knew_ you all would fall apart without me.”

While he waited for their laughter to die down, he held the mic away from him and said to Caitlin, “Sometimes I think I missed my calling as a comedian.”

“Suuure, Harry.” She clapped exaggeratedly. “You’re a natural.”

“They think I’m hilarious,” he defended himself, then turned back to the audience. “Good afternoon, everyone. As most of you already know, I’m Harrison Wells.” He had to pause for another minute while the cheering and clapping subsided and Caitlin inwardly sighed at the smug look he shot her. She’d known he was loved here, but he was going to be bringing this up for the next month, at least.

“And this is my wife, Dr. Caitlin Wells.” His words surprised her, as she hadn’t expected to be introduced, and suddenly a bright light was shining in her eyes. She took a few steps toward the center of the stage, pausing when the light followed her. “Okay, don’t blind her,” Harry said, snapping his fingers and the light turned off. “As you can see, despite what a fair number of you apparently believe, she _does_ in fact exist.”

“A woman like that?” a voice shouted out. “No way. You gotta be holding her hostage. Speak up if you need help, love.” A couple people laughed in agreement.

“Ha!” Harry shielded his eyes from the stage lights to try and see who his heckler was. “Is that you, Ames? Just because you’ve had four wives doesn’t mean the rest of us are that unlucky in love.”

“Since you left, I’m now on my fifth one,” Ames retorted, and even though Caitlin couldn’t make him out clearly amidst the crowd, she heard the laughter in the other man’s voice.

“Congratulations!” Harry offered, with a grin. “May she stick around longer than the first four.” The audience started good-naturedly heckling their co-worker.

Harry turned back to Caitlin, gesturing to her again. “As I said, she’s real, she’s not my prisoner. And she’s not an actress. Nor a _spy_. Yes, I heard about that one. And also, yes, she did get herself detained by security today, I’m sure you’ve all heard that.”

The crowd laughed again as Caitlin leveled a glare at him and then stalked over to say into the microphone, “Thanks for telling everyone who might not have known. And yes,” she addressed the crowd, “we’re actually married. But maybe not for long when we get home.”

When the crowd started laughing and whistling at her comment, Harry tried to quiet them with a glare of his own that didn’t work.

“I might have made a critical error in judgement here,” he admitted, as Caitlin smirked at him and he gently pushed her away so she couldn’t say anything else into the microphone.

“Let her have it,” someone yelled, “we like her better than you, Wells.”

“Who said that!” Harry demanded, as Caitlin couldn’t keep her straight face and started laughing. “You people do realize if she leaves me, I’m going to end up back here full-time, right?”

“Oh God,” another person called, “Caitlin, you gotta keep him.”

She pretended to think that over before beckoning Harry closer to announce, “Yeah, sorry everyone. You aren’t getting him back.”

That was met with loud applause and cheering, as Harry put his arm around her and she ducked her head in mild embarrassment; she knew the crowd was happy for _them_ , not the fact that Harry wouldn’t be returning. From everything she’d seen, she knew that they would have been genuinely thrilled if they got him back. (But if she had anything to say about it, they never would.)

“Now,” he continued, “I’ve also heard rumors that you think I didn’t retire at all, hmm? That I’m secretly working for the government? I assure you, I’m not…and if I were, I’d never tell you,” he quipped. “Yes, Caitlin is one of the reasons I retired from my position here at S.T.A.R. Labs, but she was not the only reason. And as any of you who were lucky enough to meet her today could attest, even if she _was_ the only reason, that would be more than enough.”

Sara waved from the first row. “I’ll vouch for that, Harrison.”

Caitlin would have moved away, let Harry go back to his speech alone…but he never let go of her, so she stayed next to him for the rest of it. He profusely thanked Sara Lance for all she’d done as CEO, and after that, the rest of his remarks were fairly straightforward. He thanked everyone for continuing to run the place in his absence. He applauded their progress on a few dozen recent developments. And he promised that even though he was no longer playing an active role there, he was still watching over them and he’d always be available if they needed anything from him.

His speech only lasted perhaps ten minutes, but Caitlin found herself as enthralled as the rest of his audience. She’d never seen this side of him, the man who’d founded and run S.T.A.R. Labs. Watching him on that stage, it was like she could see, for the first time, exactly how he’d done it. And how much he needed this at home, even if he was reluctant to admit it.

She wondered why her other self had never seen it. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to? Harry seemed convinced she’d never wanted to come to Earth-2 because of her awful memories there, but Caitlin was beginning to suspect something else. She wondered if she’d been afraid – not of anything on this world, but of Harry’s _investment_ in it. Maybe she’d been worried that if she showed too much interest in Earth-2, he might want her to move back there with him. Or maybe even that he’d start regretting his decision to move away.

(Whatever it was that she’d thought, Caitlin resigned herself to possibly never knowing, not unless she recovered memories of this timeline.)

After Harry’s speech was over, while most people filtered out of the room and the managers of various departments came up on stage to talk to him, Caitlin made her way off the stage. She exchanged polite small talk with a few people until she was finally able to make it to the first row of seats, now mostly empty. It was going on 5:30 and they’d been there for four hours. Most of the staff would be going home soon – they closed to visitors at 5 pm, but she knew some people left earlier than that and some stayed much later, depending on how much time they wanted to put into their various projects on any given night. A few of the employees and freelance contractors even lived there, generally the ones who were on an extended visit from another country.

She stretched her legs out in front of her, glad to get off her feet.

“You’re married to Harrison Wells,” someone said, slightly accusatory, and she looked up to find Mierra standing there.

Caitlin grimaced slightly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to intentionally mislead you, it just…happened. I wanted to see what someone thought of him who wasn’t going to lie to me because of who I am.”

“It’s okay,” the girl said, and Caitlin knew she’d been quickly forgiven. “You could have told me, though. I still would have been honest.”

“I believe you,” Caitlin told her.

Mierra sat down next to her. “What’s it like being married to our founder?”

Considering she’d only had about a few months of it so far? She settled on, “It’s…a whirlwind.”

“He really loves you. It’s easy to see.”

Caitlin knew that. “He does.”

“You can tell me, I promise I won’t tell anyone.” The girl leaned over in her seat, lowering her voice even though no one was near them, and Caitlin felt a wave of apprehension at what she might want to know. “Are you two government agents?”

Caitlin burst out laughing and it drew Harry’s attention from up on stage. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he returned to his conversation. Mierra was just so eager and Caitlin didn’t want to let her down. “I will say that…we do some various dealings with the government.”

“I knew it,” Mierra whispered, in awe. “You’re like real-life spies. This is so cool!”

“We’re not spies,” Caitlin said, grinning at her.

“Sure, sure. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Caitlin went back to watching Harry up on stage. Yes, she wanted this for him at home – if he wouldn’t push for it, then she was going to. And the others were going to agree with her. Or else.

“You were wrong earlier, I think,” Mierra told her, thoughtfully.

“Hmm?” She tore her gaze away from Harry to look at the younger girl.

“When you said no one’s a bigger fan of Harrison Wells than, well…Harrison Wells.”

Caitlin laughed at the implication. “Yeah, I know, it seems everyone in this building is his biggest fan. Just what his ego needs, right?”

Mierra was shaking her head. “No. That’s not who I meant.”

Yeah, Caitlin knew that, too. But she didn’t have any argument against it, not when it was becoming truer by the day.

**XXXXXX**

As much as Caitlin had loved Earth-2, there was an overwhelming sense of rightness once she was back on her own Earth. Back home.

“Look who’s finally returned,” Jesse said, grinning at them as they entered the cortex.

“Look who’s still here going on 7 at night,” Harry told his daughter, replicating her tone perfectly, as he set down the box of metals that had taken them over five hours to procure. “Everyone.”

Jesse and Wally were on the couch, Cisco was at his computer talking to Joe, and Barry and Iris were – obviously – wrapped up in each other.

“Everyone minus HR,” Wally reminded him.

“Only since he’s not on this Earth at the moment,” Harry said, before adding dryly, “ _Somehow_.”

“We were dealing with a meta-human thing,” Barry said, in explanation for why the entire team was gathered. He waved them off before Harry or Caitlin could become concerned. “Nothing to worry about, it’s over now.”

“Guess you two decided to make a day of it on Earth-2?” Wally questioned.

Harry met Caitlin’s eyes, and she knew he was silently laughing at her. “Something like that.”

“You guys should have stayed overnight,” Cisco said flippantly, turning to Harry. “Would have saved me the hassle of dealing with you for another day.”

Before Harry could respond to that taunt, Iris spoke up. “I think it’s funny you’d say that, Cisco, considering you were the one who vibed them a short time ago to make sure they were okay.”

“Iris!” Cisco hissed, then glanced over at Harry and Caitilin. “I vibed Caitlin because I was concerned about _her_. It’s not my fault you two are always together, like – like – magnets!”

“Mmhmm,” Barry said, not buying it the same way no one else was buying it.

“Who knew what Harry might have gotten her into over there.” Cisco slid down in his chair a little. “You said you wouldn’t be gone long and then the hours passed with no word and…”

“We’re sorry,” Harry offered, and Caitlin was surprised that he’d apologized before she could. “We should have sent you a message when we realized it would take longer than we planned.”

“It wasn’t fair of us to make you worry,” Caitlin added, as she considered being in Cisco’s place. “I’d be furious if any of you did that to me.”

“An oversight that won’t happen again,” Harry said, air of finality in his tone.

Cisco nodded shortly in acceptance of their apologies. “So how was your trip to Earth-2?” he asked, looking at Caitlin. “Learn anything about Harry we can use to blackmail him?”

Caitlin rolled her eyes, ignoring his eager questions.

“It was perfectly fine until Snow here got herself arrested.” Harry sounded much too happy to impart that information to everyone. “In fact, her series of crimes are the reason for most of our delay.”

“You were _arrested_?” Iris gasped. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Caitlin assured her. “And I wasn’t arrested. I was _detained_.” When no one seemed to care about that distinction, she insisted, “There’s a difference!”

“It was security,” Harry confirmed, “not the police. She tried to steal a half million dollar weapon prototype.”

“I was _examining_ the prototype when…um…”

“Oh, do go on,” Joe said, eagerly.

“I might have accidentally waved it in the direction of a lab tech who _somehow_ took that as a threat.” Caitlin wouldn’t quite look at any of them, realizing for the first time how awful the story sounded when she stated only the facts.

“Can’t let her go anywhere unsupervised,” Harry lamented, dramatically. “See what happens?”

Caitlin chose not to respond to that. “Security thought I was a thief, for obvious reasons. That wouldn’t have even been so bad, but my pride took a real hit when they pointed out how terrible I was at it.”

“Oh man!” Cisco was downright gleeful. “You got arrested by S.T.A.R. Labs rent-a-cops? That’s pretty sad, Caitlin.”

“ _Detained_ ,” Caitlin corrected, horrified that she sounded on the verge of whining.

“S.T.A.R. Labs has the best security,” Harry was telling Cisco, clearly having taken offense at his description. Then his expression turned rueful. “Not that anyone on this team would know _anything_ about security. At least not before I got here.”

“Right, right,” Cisco rolled his eyes, “you’re the best at everything.”

Before they could really get going (and thus, it’d be much harder to divert their attention), Caitlin stepped toward the center of the room to announce, “We have a proposal for all of you.”

She glanced back at Harry, noting the question in his eyes: _You want to do this now?_

Her answering look said, _Why not?_ It wasn’t like they would magically come up with a better time and everyone was gathered now.

“It’s about Earth-2,” Harry said, taking over and addressing the room. “It’s about S.T.A.R. Labs there. Caitlin and I talked about it and –”

“Please don’t go back.” Jesse’s voice was laced with trepidation.

Harry turned to face her, having no idea what she meant. “What?”

“I know you love it there,” Jesse whispered, leaving Wally’s side to take a few steps closer to him. “But –”

“You can’t leave,” Barry burst out, having picked up on Jesse’s fears and quickly followed her line of thought. The rest of their friends started protesting, too, and as Caitlin looked around at them, she was shocked to find them not only distressed, but genuinely fearful that she and Harry were going to leave.

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Caitlin tried to explain.

It was as if Cisco didn’t even hear her. “I know I joke around a lot with you two – especially you, Harry – but this place wouldn’t be the same without…” It seemed he couldn’t make himself finish the sentence. “We can’t do this without either of you.”

Harry rounded on Cisco, pointing at him. “First of all, yes, you could.” His words were as firm as they were unwavering as he swept his eyes over the rest of their friends. “ _All of you_ could. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

“Yeah, well maybe we don’t _want_ to do this without you,” Cisco snapped in return, before Harry could go on. Caitlin actually jolted at her friend’s words, recognizing how similar they were to her thoughts about Harry earlier, on Earth-2.

Harry took a moment, maybe to absorb the hurt inherent in Cisco’s statement. (The hurt in everyone at thinking they were on the verge of being left behind.) “You won’t have to do this without us,” he said, and it wasn’t only reassurance – it was a promise. “Not as long as I have anything to say about it.”

“You’re not moving back?” Jesse sounded tentative, like she was afraid to believe she might have avoided one of her worst nightmares.

“Never even thought about it,” Harry said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and kissing the top of her head. “My home is where you are. Where _all_ of you are.” That was what finally made them believe him, the apprehensive energy of the room dissipating as everyone relaxed and their usual cheerful atmosphere slowly took over again.

Caitlin steepled her hands together, pressing them to her mouth. Their genuine worry and fear that she and Harry might leave – their relief and joy that they were staying – it was overwhelming to her.

“Our proposal,” Harry began again, reminding them of the topic that had gotten lost amidst the confusion, “is that we recreate S.T.A.R. Labs from Earth-2. Here.”

“You mean like…” Iris trailed off, wanting details.

“We rebuild it here the way it is there,” Caitlin said. “There are investors for many of the projects already, but you’ve never expanded beyond the capabilities of the handful of staff here. I think we should.”

“Was this your idea?” Joe asked her.

She turned to Harry. “We both had the idea. I just…gave Harry a nudge into accepting it as a real possibility instead of a fantasy.”

“I want to be very clear,” Harry said slowly. “This decision is made together. Unanimously. That’s it. Because first, I don’t truly own this S.T.A.R. Labs. It’s only partly mine – part of it belongs to all of you,” he glanced at Jesse and Wally, “even those of you without ownership stakes. This would be an undertaking that would change not only my life, but everyone’s in this room. It will change our jobs here, how we interact with this city, what people expect of us – it’ll bring new people into our lives, new problems and challenges – and once it’s done, it cannot be undone. All of that is why I’ve never seriously considered trying it here. It’s a lot to ask of other people.”

“Why does it sound like you’re trying to talk us out of it before we’ve even started?” There was more than a hint of challenge in Barry’s question.

“I only want to ensure everyone is clear on what it would entail,” Harry replied. “I would, of course, run it. But things would change for us no matter how involved each of you chose to be.” He took a deep breath. “I also want to remind you – none of you owe me anything. Not. A. Thing.”

“You are so wrong,” Cisco said. He’d returned to his desk chair and propped his feet up, tilting the chair back a little.

“I’m not wrong,” Harry said, tone indicating that he knew what he said was the truth even if no one agreed with him. “If even one of you has valid objections we can’t work through, then it’s off the table. Completely.”

“Harry…” Barry was looking around the room, at each one of them, and then turned back to him. “We don’t need to think about this. We don’t even need to talk about it – the answer’s pretty clear.”

Caitlin held her breath in the pause that followed his words. She was pretty sure they would support this, but that moment of waiting –

“It’s an amazing idea,” Barry concluded, starting to smile.

“I always wondered why you never did it before,” Cisco told Harry. “I’d thought about asking you, but then I figured…if you’d wanted to do it, you’d have done it by now. You know we gave you free reign over this place a long time ago – that never changed. Honestly, I’d pretty much convinced myself that part of the reason you came to this Earth was so you could escape the craziness on Earth-2. I assumed you viewed it almost as a vacation here, with how relatively peaceful this S.T.A.R. Labs is in comparison.”

“I don’t know if I’d _ever_ describe our life here as ‘peaceful’,” Harry said wryly.

Cisco laughed a little, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, I should have known better.”

“Having a place like Earth-2’s S.T.A.R. Labs here?” Joe spoke up. “I can’t think of anything better for the children of this city. For everyone in this city.”

“A place where our future children could visit and learn about science,” Iris said, eyes lighting up in a way that matched Barry’s. “And medicine and technology and…meta-humans. A place where they could learn instead of –”

“– being afraid,” Barry finished, watching Iris with the kind of open love Caitlin expected from them, by now. “The world is a much better place when people learn to accept the things that are different instead of fearing them.” He turned back to Harry. “I want that. For my future children.”

Harry met Caitlin’s eyes across the room when he replied, “So do I.”

Wally and Jesse were nodding along with everyone and started throwing out their own ideas. It wasn’t long before the conversation fell into more chaotic enthusiasm as everyone offered their opinions, which were overwhelmingly positive in how much everyone loved the idea. They all vowed to do anything they could to help.

Caitlin hung back, perching on the edge of one of the armchairs as her friends spoke. It reminded her of Thanksgiving, when she’d told everyone she was pregnant – just as Harry had purposely set himself apart so that she didn’t think any of their support was only because of him, she wanted him to feel the same way now. This was about _him_. As much as she wanted this and would do anything possible to make it a reality, it was his love for S.T.A.R. Labs that mattered right now.

And the more Harry _heard_ how much they loved him and the place he’d built on Earth-2 – how eager they were to help him recreate it on this Earth – the more Caitlin found it difficult to keep her emotions under control.

“Are you crying?” Cisco asked when he happened to glance at her, hint of alarm in his tone.

“No,” Caitlin said, running her hands over her face. “Yes.” She swept her eyes across the room, over all her friends who were now watching her, starting to worry, and she shook her head. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just…” She stopped on Harry who seemed to be able to tell what she was feeling. She saw the gratitude in his eyes. Along with the love that never went away.

He tipped his head the slightest bit in invitation and she was suddenly standing with him, with no memory of how she’d gotten there. He pulled her in front of him, draping his arms over her shoulders and clasping them in front of her. She leaned back against him, barely biting back a sigh. She was tired. And emotional (probably overly so). And he was the only thing that made it better sometimes.

They talked for a little while longer, Caitlin finally joining in to give her own descriptions of what it had been like on Earth-2. How much she’d loved it, how brilliant it had been, how certain she was that they could do the same thing here.

“I’m so happy you’re all on board with this,” she said, at one point, and they must have heard the relief in her voice. Harry leaned down to kiss her temple.

There was a smile playing at the corners of Barry’s mouth. “You really thought we wouldn’t be?”

“I wasn’t sure,” she answered honestly. “I hoped, but I wondered if I might have to be…persuasive.”

“You mean your attempts at being scary?” Cisco rephrased, as he scoffed. “Please. You don’t scare us, Caitlin.”

She cast a glance at him and he took a quick step behind the closest person to him, who happened to be Jesse. “Make her stop,” he begged, but he was laughing at the same time.

“You’re hilarious, Cisco,” Caitlin sighed. “You and Harry together – you’d make quite the comedy team.”

“No way,” Harry said, as Caitlin tipped her head back to look up at him. “He’d only drag me down.”

That started an argument between the two men about who had the more ‘erudite wit’ until Wally finally broke it up by asking, “How would you propose we continued…doing what we do? If the building’s filled with more employees and visitors every day? After all, on Earth-2 you were never part of a team that helped protect Central City. I know that people are aware we help the Flash, now, but we don’t want people wandering across things they shouldn’t.”

Caitlin felt Harry nodding behind her, as he said, “We’d keep our areas in this part of the building restricted to just us.”

“We’d have no choice,” Cisco said, in agreement. “Wouldn’t want anyone to interrupt me while I was working.” Harry took a breath and Cisco held up a hand. “Once, Harry. Just once let it go without making the _same joke_ you always do.”

“But –”

“Harry.”

“Fine,” he relented, and then his voice changed as he let the act drop. “In all seriousness, Ramon, the work you do here is…immensely appreciated.”

Cisco studied him a moment, perhaps waiting for the punchline that never came.

“All of you,” Harry added, switching his eyes to everyone, in turn. “I know I took over most of the operations here, and I wanted to do it, but I could _never_ have done this without the incredible amount of effort and dedication and…passion that you people have put into this place. This place that has always meant so much to me, no matter the Earth. I have loved your efforts more than any of you will probably ever know.”

“Harry…” Barry began, but he didn’t go on.

“Caitlin and I had a long talk today about a fundamental misunderstanding between us – that she thought I gave up everything to come live here. That it was a sacrifice. It _wasn’t_. It was never about a cost for me, it wasn’t even about a trade; it was about finding myself here and realizing this was the life I’d never known I was missing.” Harry paused for the briefest of moments. “I love all of you.” He tightened his arms around Caitlin. “Someone’s always telling me I should say it more. I’m reasonably sure you all know I love you, already. But…there’s a difference between knowing it and hearing it.”

“We love you, too,” Barry said, as the others voiced their agreement – and obviously, he was the one who’d rushed to say it first. He even looked a little emotional as he did so and Caitlin felt some relief that she wasn’t the only one on the verge of crying again. Glancing around, Iris and Jesse also seemed close to tears. Wally was carefully looking away, too.

“I’m honored that you all want to do this with me,” Harry summed up. “And that’s the only way it _could_ work. If I have _all of you_. With me.”

“We’re always with you,” Cisco said, stepping toward Harry and Caitlin, a bit hesitantly. “You know that.”

Harry let go of her and Caitlin stepped aside so he and Cisco could shake hands, which turned almost instantly into a hug. As Caitlin watched them she felt… She wasn’t even sure how to describe it, but she did know she’d never been aware she could feel _so much_.

As the talk returned to remaking their Earth’s version of S.T.A.R. Labs, Iris took Caitlin’s hand, pulling her over to sit down on the couch.

“You shared a little before, but I want to hear _everything_ about your trip,” Iris said eagerly. “I love Earth-2, it just seems I never get to visit there as often as I want. I need every detail.”

“It’s beyond wonderful there, as you know.” Caitlin sank back into the couch, images flitting past in her mind (and she’d only gotten to spend time at the lab, never even making it around the city to sightsee; they’d have to do that next time). Then her thoughts turned to Harry and the side of him she’d seen there – the feelings she had for him that she almost couldn’t define anymore – that she knew she had to talk to him about, and soon. “Iris,” she sighed, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about something easy?” Iris suggested, tucking one leg under the other as she turned on the couch to face Caitlin directly. “What’s the best part of Earth-2?”

“That answer _is_ easy,” Caitlin told her, looking over at Harry and smiling softly when all she could think was… _how much I love that man_. “You’ve already met him. He’s been here for two years.”


End file.
